


The Road Home

by Gritty_Water



Series: Gritty Water [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Amoniel wants to eat the one ring, Battle, Childhood Friends, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Elves, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Greenwood, Grief/Mourning, LOTR, Mirkwood, Orcs, Romance, Suicide Attempt, elves don't really die, rave king thranduil, this is legit just a fantasy book set in middle earth, who doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-30 09:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 70,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17221793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gritty_Water/pseuds/Gritty_Water
Summary: Two elves meet in an unexpected way, taking them on a journey far from Mirkwood. They become unlikely friends, returning to a home that is much changed for both of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> By a Donut and a Snowglobe  
> [Check out our tumblr!](https://gritty-water.tumblr.com/)

Amoniel lay in a tree, carefully watching a band of orcs making camp nearby. The sun was just setting over the horizon behind her, effectively shielding her from orc eyes. The gentle breeze blew their voices over to her and rustled the leaves, both further hiding the elf downwind and allowing her to eavesdrop. A light rain was also falling, but Amoniel had drawn her deep green cloak closely around her and pulled her hood down to protect herself from the chill. The rain was still misty enough not to soak through, for now. Every once in a while, she distractedly touched the items in her bag, a force of habit. Checking. A thief learns to keep their own items on their mind at all times. Even though Amoniel looked relaxed, she was staring and listening intently. Orcs, for the most part, carried little of value on them, but they were occasionally known to have stolen treasures. These orcs, specifically, seemed to be after some sort of treasure of their own, and Amoniel felt an oddly strong desire for it. She trusted her thieving intuition, and it was telling her they were after something immensely expensive.

She thought she heard them say something about a rabbit. She rubbed rain off of her face.

She couldn’t speak much of the Orc’s language, understandably, but she could catch a few words every now and then. Amoniel had been following the orcs for a while now, but had heard little of the treasure they sought. She had begun following them simply because they were so far out of Mirkwood. Orcs rarely travelled close enough to the elves’ territory to be noticed by wandering elves, but these had gotten almost within visible distance of the elves’ homes. Amoniel herself hesitated to get too close to the elves, having once lived and been subsequently expelled from their territory here, but the boldness of the orcs intrigued her. They had been gathering as of late, almost as if they were preparing for a fight, but the elves hadn’t been aggressive recently. It was a dangerous situation, but this wasn’t Amoniel’s fight. She wasn’t part of the elves anymore. She was just there to see what she could steal.

When this band of orcs grew bold enough to near the elves’ territory, however, something told her they were looking for something. Maybe a fight, but she thought it more likely they were after something valuable. She began to follow them then, hoping for some insight into why they had travelled so far. Not but an hour into tailing close behind them, one of them had mentioned a ring of some sort. Rings were usually of little value, and orcs didn’t usually speak of them at all. Therefore, this ring must be of some special interest. There was little said about it at the time, and Amoniel couldn’t quite hear or understand, but she heard enough to pique her interest. Her thief’s intuition told her the ring they spoke of would be valuable. She had followed farther behind since then and heard only sparse mentionings, but had yet to see a ring of any sort. They were probably looking for it, then, and maybe she could find it first. Observation had yielded little fruit in her search, and she was running out of patience. If observing did not work out soon, she thought she could bargain for some sort of information. No matter how she achieved her ends, she was confident this would pay off in some way. Her thief’s intuition had rarely been this strong, this sure.

As orcs travelled mainly at night, she had allowed herself a few hours before sunset the other day to wander away from the darker part of the forest they had wound up in and to stretch in the sunshine. She could pick a few bright, sunny flowers to sigh over when the night came again. A few stormy clouds had gathered when she woke, and the wind promised rain by sunset at the latest. The sun still shone enough to lift her spirits and cast away the solitary gloom of travelling, for which she was glad. While out, Amoniel had eventually noticed another elf following the orc trail from a distance. The elf was small and appeared quite young. Although her clothes were practical, they still exuded opulence. Amoniel couldn’t be sure because of the hood keeping the young elf’s face in shadow, but she thought this was the daughter of Berion, a local lord in the elves’ territory. If so, she could be of value. Perhaps she could even be used in some sort of trade to convince the orcs to speak of the ring they hunted. If not, she could certainly be passed off as Miriel. The orcs would never know the difference, and they were under the impression the elves were vain enough to pay handsomely for any hostage. In fact, with the mounting tensions between the orcs and the elves, she was certain the orcs would want such a precious hostage, and this made Miriel a highly viable bargaining chip. For a while, Amoniel had watched the elf follow the orc trail over a great distance. Eventually, the Miriel-elf would reach Mirkwood and have to make a decision. Amoniel was almost certain Miriel would cross into the darker part of the forest, just to see if the orcs had really left the elves’ kingdom. She hoped the little elleth was prepared for a much longer journey, as a captive to the orcs.

Her conscience twinged, but she ignored it. She needed something of value if she was to keep living, no matter how it was obtained. That was the way she had stayed alive since her exile. Whatever the orcs were after seemed to be just the thing she could use. And, besides, if this elf was Miriel, then she had lived a much nicer life than Amoniel. She could use a little real life experience. _At the hands of orcs, though? Really, Amoniel? You would do that to her?_ When these thoughts became too much to handle, Amoniel tore her eyes away from the elf slowly making her way closer and silently crept back to her hiding spot near the orcs. The elf girl would arrive, and she would use her if she must. For now, though, she would listen to the orcs to see if they would drop any more free information. She couldn’t do this for too long, as she was certain her only bargaining piece would head home before night truly fell. If she wanted to use possibly-Miriel, she would need to act soon. As the orc camp was packed away and the darkness rose, conversation suddenly broke out again.

An orc with only half an earlobe asked some sort of question, accusingly facing the orc that appeared to be something of a leader. Amoniel’s ears twitched, straining to hear every word. She thought the orc had mentioned a ring.

The head orc growled a response, to which the first orc growled back in their garbled tongue.

Tensions rose, exciting Amoniel. Would the ring finally make an appearance? Could she catch any hints about where it is? But the head orc just stood, bared his teeth, and made some sort of final statement. He sat back down.

The other orcs grumbled, but stopped talking for now. Amoniel seethed. That was it? That was what she had waited all this time for? Orcs were usually far more confrontational! She wasn’t going to follow them into the heart of Mirkwood for only a few bitter clues. She would have to speak to them directly, much as she hated to. She would have to use the elf she presumed to be Miriel. She assumed the orcs spoke the common language, but would they listen to an elf? She didn’t care. The ring… called her. She needed to know more, and she couldn’t glean anything more from observation without losing the one backup plan she had. She steeled herself to go speak to the orcs. Tightening the fastenings of her bag, making sure her cloak was concealing her sword, and pulling her hood further on her head, she jumped down from the tree silently. She approached the orcs, allowing her feet to crunch on the ground underneath. She certainly didn’t want to sneak up on a bunch of weapon-happy fools.

Fortunately, the lead orc was the closest, and turned around first. Most of the orcs jumped to their feet, drawing swords and the like. Smiling from the shadow of her hood, Amoniel stopped walking and drew back her cloak just enough to reveal her shining gold sword hilt. A red ribbon was tied to the end, and flapped in the weak wind. Projecting, Amoniel looked the orc’s leader in the eyes and said, “I have something you’ll want.”

* * *

_Where is it, where is it?_ Miriel hastily tightened her intricately designed belt as she dug through the pile of, well, random stuff on her dresser. She knew she had left her satchel somewhere around here when she had set it down the night before. She moved a stack of parchment to the floor, feeling a twinge of guilt. Her father had wanted her to attend some sort of a conference this morning. He had told her it concerned something of utmost importance, but she was not going. Again. Miriel quickly swept both the papers and the guilty thoughts aside; her satchel was sitting underneath.

“There you are.” Miriel swung the satchel over her shoulder, grabbing her dagger that was hanging on the arm of a huge velvet armchair and buckling it around her waist. She slung a quiver of arrows over her shoulder, securing them tightly. She gave herself one last once-over in the mirror, straightening the flower secured over her ear and making sure she had everything, then practically pranced out the door of her quarters, slamming it behind her.

As she ran down the long wooden stairway, Miriel ran almost head-on into a tall, serious looking elf. Her father. His dark brows raised in surprise. “Where are you off to, my love?” He gently straightened the flower in her hair as well, the ghost of a grin touching the corners of his lips.  
Miriel’s lips curled upward in a slight smile. “The woods, Ada, where else?”

Her father’s look of surprise turned to one of slight disapproval. “You know I wanted you to attend the Counsel this morning, Miriel.” She lowered her head slightly, and dropped her gaze to her soft leather shoes.

“It is such a beautiful morning… I just can’t bring myself to attend another stuffy conference.”

“Very well.” There was a hint of disappointment in Berion’s voice, but his face remained unmoved from its stern expression. “Be safe, my child.”

“Yes, Ada,” Miriel smiled slightly and continued to bound down the flight of stairs.

“Miriel?” her father’s voice called from his position at the top.

“Yes, Ada?”

“I love you, _henig nín_.”

Miriel smiled softly. “I love you too.”

Miriel had only been in the woods about an hour before she found what she was looking for: blades of grass smashed into the soil, raw gashes in the bark of the trees made by crude and cruel axes, rotting bones and stale crumbs in piles.

“Orc filth…” she muttered to herself, following the trail silently. It seemed that the disgusting creatures got closer to the kingdom of the elves every day. It was strange. Normally, they minded their business, and the elves minded theirs, and there was no conflict. None, that is, until the attack the previous summer. It had been small, however, and quickly fought off. Miriel remembered her father saying something about a prisoner escaping as well. She hadn't thought much of it at the time. However, just like that summer, there was something very wrong about these orcs again. Miriel could feel it when she came upon their trail. Something dark, something evil.

As could be expected, the disgusting line crept slowly out of the domain of the elves and into the deep thickets of trees, where the light dimmed. This part of the forest was sick, sick with some sort of evil. Miriel knew not what it was. As she stepped behind a tree with black bark and long, dark green leaves, her father’s words came into her mind.

“I forbid you to ever step into the black part of the forest, called Mirkwood,” he had told her, numerous times. It was too dangerous, the orcs were too prolific now, no one truly knows what lies beyond the river. All these things he had repeated. As she had numerous times before, Miriel ignored her father’s advice as she continued forward.

When the forest began to thicken and lose almost all light, Miriel silently drew her dagger. The blade glowed a soft blue. There were orcs nearby. Miriel put her dagger away, fitted an arrow to the string of her bow, and licked her lips. She continued stealthily down the trail.

There was a clap of thunder. The arrow whizzed off of the string of Miriel’s bow as she gasped in shock, and stuck quivering in the trunk of a tree. The forest grew silent, and it seemed to her that all the trees could see her. They watched in enmity. She scolded herself for being so careless as she pulled at the arrow in the tree trunk. It would not budge, and the shaft broke away in her hand. Thunder softly rumbled again in the distance. She threw the broken arrow into the bushes and continued following the orc trail, with less confidence than she had before.

Suddenly, the trail scattered, and disappeared. In its place was a few dark, ugly blades on the ground here and there. Miriel felt a creeping sensation crawl down her spine. Orcs wouldn’t flee from elves like this. She suddenly felt very alone, realizing how far she was from any other elves. She took a step forward, then froze. Strung discreetly between two gnarled trees was a thin line of string. It became instantly clear to her what had happened. Visions of the orcs crying and fleeing flashed before her eyes, running, running from _them_.

“Spiders!” Miriel cried aloud, sprinting away through the thick undergrowth. She could hear them, ahead of her, behind her, on either side, as the trees creaked and bent under their hideous legs. Lines of silk shot out from all directions around her, filling the air with a sickening stench. Thinking quickly, Miriel drew her dagger and cut them as quickly as the giant spiders could expel them. It seemed that no matter how fast she ran, the enormous creatures swung through the trees with equal speed.  She glanced back at the trees behind her, dismayed to see that nearly each one housed at least one black spider. Would it be possible to outrun them? How many could she fight off before… Miriel tried unsuccessfully to count them before twisting to face forwards again.

As she turned around, though, it seemed as if the ground had dropped away from below her feet. Miriel’s bow hit a sharp stone and shattered as she fell into a deep pit. A tree root hanging out of the side of the hole caught her foot and twisted it unmercifully. At the same moment, her head slammed into a rock at the bottom and the trees above began to turn in circles.

Despite her pain, Miriel did not lose her head. She had been in dangerous situations many times before, more than one involving spiders. Before the spiders were upon her, she drew her sword and pointed it towards their spinning shapes. They hissed and backed away slightly from the pit at the sight of the bright blade.

“S-Stay away,” she commanded, surprised at how weak and shaky her voice sounded. It sounded as if it was coming from someone other than herself. She blinked, hard, to clear her vision. One spider drew nearer to her, ignoring her threat, and she thrust her sword into it. The creature gave a shrill cry and rolled, bottom up, spiny legs kicking. It twitched and lay still, the stench of its newly dead body nearly choking Miriel. This however, had its desired effect, and the other creatures drew away, not wanting a meal at that risk. When Miriel was sure they had really gone, she put her sword back into its scabbard and assessed the damage.

Pain was already replacing the adrenaline in Miriel’s body. Her head throbbed, and her ankle felt as if it was pulsing five times larger with each heartbeat. She put a hand up to her scalp; it was wet and sticky. Blood, no doubt. She took a deep breath, bit her lip, and tried to sit up. Her foot was still caught in the root above her, so she was dangling upside down from the side of the pit. She pulled out her dagger and hacked at the root. Within a couple seconds, it was broken, and she tumbled the last few feet to the bottom of the pit. Sharp pains coursed up her leg as she slowly sat up, trying to steady her still spinning head.

“No, please, not here, not now…” she groaned, turning towards her clearly injured leg. Her ankle was already swelling, and she tore her eyes away. She couldn’t deal with that, not right now. She picked up a pebble and threw it to the wall of the pit in frustration. It would be difficult enough to get out of the pit, and probably impossible if she was hurt. She studied the pit she had fallen in. The walls were somewhat smooth, and had clearly been dug intentionally, if long ago. The top was well above her head, and a difficult climb. However, there were a few rocks and roots she could use as footholds in the walls.  _If I can just stand up…_ Miriel braced herself against the stone at her back and attempted to raise herself onto her good leg, but even the slight movement of the damaged one was too much. A wave of pain hit her like a boulder and she cried and collapsed back down. She lay still, breathing hard and feeling nauseous. At that moment, it began to rain.

The cold water cleared Miriel’s brain as she sat and thought of her current predicament. The flower in her hair was still fairly secured, if askew, and she took a moment to fix it. This simple action steadied her mind enough to have a moment of clarity before the shock of her fall really set in. No one knew she was here; and the sheer size of Mirkwood made it unlikely that anyone would find her. And what would they find, if they were to come? It was likely that the spiders would return after nightfall. She shuddered at the thought, and it gave her new energy to try to stand again. She fell again, muffling a shout. That wouldn’t be an option. She hoped whoever had dug the pit would come back, and soon. But, then again, (and this was the thought she was avoiding) it could have been dug by the orcs. Or, the digger could have been taken by spiders. Or died long ago. Here in Mirkwood, it was best to fear the worst. Shivering, Miriel wrapped her cloak around her and sighed, resigning herself to wait for now. She had no other options. Her cold fingers reached into her satchel and pulled out a small morsel of bread wrapped in leaves, which she nibbled on silently. When she had finished, she put it away and closed her eyes, wishing the pain would go away. Eventually, this lead to a restless sleep.

* * *

There was no doubt in Amoniel’s mind that the elf she thought to be Berion’s daughter had followed the orc trail into Mirkwood. She had seen the elf intently tracking the orcs for long enough to be convinced that the girl would continue even into the darker part of the forest. Her intuition told her it was so. If she wanted to know more about the ring, she needed the girl. So where was she? She back tracked through Mirkwood, following the path the orcs had made. She came to all the way to the edge of Mirkwood, yet, nothing. Perhaps the elleth had not followed the orcs into Mirkwood? Every elf knew it was a place of danger. Yet, Amoniel’s intuition told her something else. She knew, instinctively, that the smaller elf had come in here. So where was she?

With a shudder, she connected the dots for herself. There was a part of Mirkwood she rarely went, except once. She had seen the orcs pass through that part of the forest, but she herself had skirted the edges. The orcs had fought in there, as she had thought they might. She had heard it. Even though she had gone around the most dangerous part, she still couldn’t breathe well until she was past the thick of it and the orcs’ yells had died down. Most of them had made it out. Damn spiders. She prayed that the little elf had fallen into her trap instead of the spiders’. The pit-trap had been dug when Amoniel was younger, and unaware of the danger. It had simply been a deep gash in the clearest path through the trees, hidden by some roots and stones. Someone running past, even an elf, would probably not notice it until it was too late. Since learning the spiders occupied that portion of the forest, she hadn’t gone back to check the trap in years. As the little elleth clearly hadn’t left the spider-infested portion of Mirkwood, Amoniel could only pray that that meant the she had fallen into the pit and was unable to climb out. She didn’t know what state the pit was in, or if it even still existed. Even if the elf girl had fallen in, gotten trapped, and kept the spiders away, they grew bolder at night, and the sun had all but disappeared after her meeting with the orcs. That was a while ago. The orcs weren’t known for being understanding, and both their patience and Amoniel’s hope would run out if she couldn’t find who she assumed to be Miriel before long. She would need to go to the spider’s hunting grounds, now, if she was to find the ring. No, if she was to find the elf. Her thoughts kept turning to the ring, and it was beginning to be distracting. She had to push it out of her mind, for now, to focus on not gathering the spiders’ attention.

Amoniel could be silent even on a quiet night, but the wind and light rain helped put her mind at ease. The spiders wouldn’t be hearing her. They appeared to be elsewhere, anyway. Hopefully not spinning up a small elleth. Amoniel cringed. Surely the orcs that the spiders had taken the night before would be food enough to keep Miriel, if it really was Miriel, off the menu. She really hoped it was Miriel. She needed information about that ring.

As Amoniel grew closer to the spider’s territory, she noticed the broken head of an arrow stuck in a tree. It looked like it hadn’t been there for long. Perhaps that meant it was the little elf’s? There didn’t appear to be any others in the area, which was not comforting. She followed the orc trail even more cautiously, now, wondering what the lone arrow had been shot at.

The wind kept snagging Amoniel’s hood, tugging it off her head gently. Walking into the wind was smart to keep the spiders from detecting her, but it was annoying. The rain, although light, was soaking her. She constantly rubbed both the outside of her bag, feeling for all of the items inside, and the hilt of her sword, polishing the metal with the inside of her cloak to keep the rain off. The tense walk both heightened her hearing and forced her to hear a sort of rushing noise, as if the wind and rain were combining with the blood pumping in her ears to create constant white noise. It was distracting. It was annoying. It was… Ah. Very close to her pit.

Amoniel rushed over the last few feet, throwing herself to the ground by the pit. She glanced around fearfully and drew her hood back over her head. Thankfully, the spiders weren’t there, now. She slowly let her head peak over the side of the pit, causing a little dirt to scatter down. It landed on some silver fabric that was stained red. It appeared to be blood on the hood of a cloak, worn by an elf who could only be Miriel, the elf lord’s daughter. Amoniel groaned internally, even as a greedier part of her sighed in relief. Blood made her queasy. She hoped the rain had washed most of it away. She also prayed that any injuries Miriel sustained were superficial. It would be quite difficult to carry Miriel out of the pit on her own, but, once out, she could handle carrying Miriel to the orcs. There was no accounting for how the orcs would treat Miriel, however, especially if she was gravely injured. Miriel might die if the orcs―

Amoniel pushed the thought of serious injury away from her mind, soothing her conscience, and continued to observe the bottom of her pit. Miriel was curled up against the side, and appeared to be sleeping at first, but was beginning to stir. So this was who she was looking for, although she thought the girl would be older. She had looked at least somewhat older from a distance. Amoniel noted the dead spider in the pit as well, whose belly was slashed open with the weapon Miriel, who had woken fully, now appeared to be brandishing. So this was a tough elf. Amoniel would have to be crafty to get Miriel to follow her…

* * *

The slightest rustle from above caused Miriel to wake. The first thing she noticed was that she was wet, freezing cold, and in a good deal of pain.  Her head throbbed and was sticky with what she assumed to be blood, but she quickly forgot about that when she looked up. A black figure was crouching over the mouth of the pit. Miriel instantly drew her sword and pointed it at the intruder, shifting to face the figure. The pain in her ankle quadrupled, and she bit down heavily on her lip, struggling not to cry out. The unknown figure leaned more over the pit, as if to get a better look. Miriel pulled her cloak protectively around her, hoping to cover any obvious signs of her injuries.

“There’s no need for that sword.” The voice was one of an elf, a female elf. She pushed back her heavy, dark hood to reveal a head of thick, dark hair. There was something that Miriel did not trust about her face, but she lowered her sword all the same.

“Have you been sent by my father?” she asked coldly. The pain caused a tremor in her voice, but she wasn’t about to cry. That was good.

“Of course. He is concerned about you; I was sent to find you,” she lied.

“You do not look like a guard.”

“Why would I not wear a heavy cloak in weather like this? I promise, underneath is a guard’s garb.” The unknown elf jumped down into the pit. Miriel looked at her distrustfully. A guard would never wear a cloak like that. Besides, she knew a good deal of the guards, and none of them looked like that. However, this person appeared to be interested in helping her out of the pit, so she didn’t resist. Perhaps this was the one who had dug the pit. Miriel put her sword away, but she didn’t attempt to get up. Although the other elf would no doubt find out about her injury, she didn't want her to know the extent of the pain she was in, not now.  She watched the intruder as she shook some mud off of her worn boots, and approached her with one hand out. Miriel hesitated, again considering standing, again stopped by her throbbing ankle.

“Are you able to stand, Miriel?”

Miriel’s heart sank when she heard the hooded figure’s question. She couldn’t lie about that. Miriel shook her head. She was more than a little disturbed that this unknown elf knew her name, but, then again, many elves knew of her. She was Berion’s daughter. Surely that meant that this rescuer lived nearby, although why she would pretend to be a guard was beyond her, for the moment. Her savior extended her hand, putting a temporary end to Miriel’s thoughts, and supported Miriel as she slowly and painfully pulled herself to a standing position. The blood rushed out of her head and into her foot, forcing her to lean heavily on the other elf for a moment. The elf pretending to be a guard smiled in a way Miriel didn’t like at all. But what choice did she have, besides to trust the imposter? She eventually managed to steady herself against the wall while the unknown rescuer climbed out of the pit. Miriel noticed the elf idly rummage through all of the items in her bag before she finally pulled out a rope. The movement was less like she was looking for the rope amongst the items, and more like she was checking inventory. Odd.

Miriel’s rescuer threw down one end of the rope. Miriel braced herself for the pain in her ankle to flare up as soon as she moved, and pushed herself away from the pit’s wall. She grabbed the rope and used her arms and one leg to pull herself out as fast as she could, the other leg dangling useless. Her arms felt more like jelly than arms, but she found strength and energy in the thought of the spiders returning. The elf at the top helped pull her up, although she kept looking around wildly. She was also clearly aware that spiders could return at any time. At least the rain appeared to be slowing. Miriel climbed out of the top of the pit, and the other elf carefully rolled up the rope. Again, when it went in the bag, the elf seemed to touch each of the other items in turn before the fastenings were closed tightly. All of this occurred within a matter of seconds. Clearly, the elf had done this many times. Miriel noted the sword hanging from her rescuer’s hip, and she swiftly remembered her manners.

“Thank yo―” Amoniel brought her fist down on the other elf’s head and she collapsed, nearly tumbling back into the pit she had just escaped from. Amoniel caught the small elf just before she went over the side. It was a job well done, in her opinion, other than Miriel almost tumbling back into the pit. And the blood. Amoniel shuddered and wiped the hand that had touched Miriel’s hood on Miriel’s shirt in the hopes of removing any trace of blood. Miriel didn’t appear to be bleeding anymore, so she was safe to carry. At least it had been over quickly, and no pressing questions could come from an unconscious elf. She hadn’t really wanted to carry Miriel. It seemed necessary, however, as she didn’t really think Miriel could walk. Although she had given no verbal indication that she was hurt, she clearly had not been able to put weight on her left leg. But that was fine. As long as they could leave spider territory unscathed, all Amoniel had to do now was take Miriel to the orcs, get the information she needed, and continue on the search for the Ring.

At the thought of the mysterious piece of jewelry, a strange greed arose in the back of Amoniel’s mind, stronger than before. She wanted to do anything and everything she could to get ahold of it. It was sure to be worth a lot, as she couldn’t even get it out of her head. She was so close, now. She picked up the unconscious, grey-faced elf beside her, careful to avoid the bloody hood, and slung her over her shoulder, impatient to get to the orcs.


	2. Chapter 2

It was approaching nightfall when Amoniel reached the camp of the orcs. A foul smell greeted her, along with rough voices speaking in a dark language, and a blade at her throat.

“Remove that; I have business with your leader.” She kept her cool, despite being surrounded by the ugly creatures, all wielding large weapons. They saw the figure slung across Amoniel’s back and stepped aside, chattering amongst themselves in their evil speech.

“Follow me,” one sneered, grabbing her wrist.

She was yanked over to a tent, made from a few branches hacked from nearby trees, and some sort of dark, dingy fabric that looked as if it was the skin from some ancient, sorry creature. Still holding her arm in a death grip, the orc thrust Amoniel in front of himself. She found herself in front of the orc leader, having nearly dropped Miriel. Her conscience was nagging at her consistently now, but she had spent years ignoring its plea for her to stop stealing. She could ignore this.

“So you have stayed true to your word, have you,” his ugly voice remarked. “Show me the hostage.” A large, muscular orc seized Miriel from off Amoniel’s shoulder and threw her roughly to the ground. Amoniel winced. The flower in Miriel’s hair finally worked its way loose, skittering across the dirt and sliding to a halt at Amoniel’s feet. While the other orcs were briefly watching Miriel, Amoniel stooped and put the flower inside her cloak.

The force of hitting the ground woke Miriel unpleasantly, knocking the breath out of her temporarily. She glanced around in shock at the orcs, and her expression turned to anger when she saw the other elf standing from picking something off the ground.

“Traitor!” Miriel drew her dagger, but the orcs were upon her in an instant. One grabbed her arm roughly, forcing her to let go of the weapon, and another dealt her a blow to the jaw that slammed her to the muddy earth. When her head stopped spinning, she chose to remain silent and assess the situation. It looked grim. She didn't feel well at all; it felt like someone was hitting her head repeatedly with a large mallet, and she was very dizzy. Her ankle was throbbing with every heartbeat, in time with her head. It was unpleasant, to say the least.

Amoniel felt strong pity for the elf child, gently rubbing the petals of Miriel’s flower now hidden in her cloak, but that was quickly replaced by the overwhelming desire for the ring. Miriel would be fine. Most likely. She would survive. “Now how about my side of the deal?” She asked the head orc, while the others remained busy stripping Miriel of weapons and belongings. They left her cloak on her, presumably because of the colder weather. _How polite_ , Miriel thought, sarcastically. Amoniel avoided her glaring gaze guiltily.

“Ah, you kept your promise, and so I must honor mine? That is the system of your measly people,” he rasped. “Isn’t it a shame that we don’t share those values.” Amoniel felt strong hands grab her arms. “You know too much for us to allow you to return to your people,” he continued, before slightly turning to address the multitude of orcs nearby. “Tie both their hands! We will take them back to the cave. Bagronk, Burzum, you will take your company and head toward the land of the elves to tell them who we have.”

Amoniel felt all the greed for the ring drain out of her, to be replaced with cold despair and hot anger. How could she have been blinded to what she knew of orcs by something as simple as a ring? It wasn’t like her. She was usually so careful. Ignoring her moral compass only to suffer the same fate as Miriel seemed fair, but she doubted the elves would come running to save _her_. “Filthy beasts!” she yelled, struggling as the orcs roughly tied her hands behind her back, above her cloak. Her words were awarded with a stinging slap. Her sword was ripped off, stinging her side where the strap had bit into her before breaking. They also cut her bag off of her.

Miriel thought she heard a sob coming from the traitorous elf then, but when she looked, Amoniel’s eyes were dry. Amoniel still refused to look at her. Other orcs soon forced Miriel to her feet. She instantly crumpled to the ground, the world greying out around her. Her ankle _hurt_. She heard the orcs speak, but it sounded watery.

“Ghâshbúrz, this one is lame in its foot.” Another ugly goblin answered the call and strode over to Miriel. She glared up at the creature, and shrunk away from him, trying to push herself away while not moving her foot. She cried out hoarsely as he roughly put his gnarled hands around her ankle, assessing the damage.

“Broken,” he sneered. _Broken_ , she repeated in her head. Miriel’s sight became a distinct square, with black edges and fuzzy orcs captured like a picture inside as the pain threatened to take over. The shadows in the tent seemed far more intense than the light. She fought to stay awake, sweating, and her heart sank. How would she be able to get away without the use of her foot? The surrounding orcs laughed at her involuntary shouts as the one tied a bent stick to her leg and foot as a rough splint. “Can’t have it falling all the way off,” he taunted her, to the entertainment of the others.

The orc picked up a dirty canteen off of the ground and forced its contents down Miriel’s throat. The liquid tasted horrendous and burned her throat and stomach, but the pain in her ankle lessened and her consciousness returned, somewhat. Again the orcs forced her to her feet, and this time she could stand, although walking was difficult. The nasty potion had clearly not healed her, and she couldn’t move her foot. At least she was conscious. She happened to glance at Amoniel. Amoniel’s cowardly face was shrouded in shadow. Traitor.

The next thing the two elves knew, they were being forced along the rough ground by their captors, leading to the edge of the forest. The vast plain beyond the end of the thick trees shone silver in the moonlight, and many miles in the distance rose an enormous range of mountains. They were dark with jagged peaks, and seemed to go on forever in both directions. The Misty Mountains.

Miriel felt anxious and exposed out of the trees. She had been out of the land of her birth only a few times, and her father had been at her side then, along with a group of others and a good number of guards. Her father. He had no doubt sent out elves to look for her, but they would never think to look beyond the forest. Her last hopes of rescue drained away as the line of trees moved farther into the distance, illuminated in the tired moonlight. It certainly didn’t help that her companion appeared well-rested. Amoniel had obviously been sleeping during the day and waking at night. Miriel felt herself growing angrier at the traitor of an elf, who still hadn’t given Miriel much more than a glance since they had been taken captive.

It was many hours yet before Miriel finally turned towards her companion with the intent to reprimand her. During this time, Miriel, with her broken ankle, had been allowed to have her hands untied and was given a stick to use as a sort of crutch so she could keep up with the group. Even with the aide, she kept falling behind, and the orcs kept pushing her back ahead. It was a miracle she hadn’t yet broken her other ankle. When she decided she was ready to engage the taller elf in heated conversation, she strove to keep pace with the longer strides. She glared at Amoniel until Amoniel turned her head. There was cold anger in Miriel’s eyes. Amoniel whipped her head back around, towards the distant moon.

“This is a nice mess you've gotten us into,” Miriel sneered quietly. She spoke in Sindarin, the language of the Mirkwood elves, so the orcs would not understand even if they heard.

“Every elf knows not to go into Mirkwood. You brought it upon yourself by not staying home,” Amoniel retorted, studying the trees receding into the distance. Miriel could barely catch her soft words.

“I was tracking the orcs! And I would have been fine, had you not thrown me to them.” Miriel came close to just hitting Amoniel with her walking stick then and there. It would have been a nice end to the conversation, but she refrained.

“You wandered blindly into spider territory. You were lucky I was there to rescue you from m… From the pit.” Amoniel had stopped herself from flat out revealing that it was she who had dug the pit, but Miriel caught on anyway.

“ _Your pit?_ I broke my ankle because of that pit!” She fell behind, briefly, and had to take a few hops to catch back up. She was exhausted from the walk, but she had energy enough for this. Her voice had risen, slightly, but the short trip behind and ahead again seemed to have tired her enough to speak softly again.

Amoniel didn’t say anything for the time being. She was debating between just apologizing, and getting angry at this child of an elf. The silence stretched, Miriel’s eyes boring into Amoniel’s thick hair the whole time.

“Will you say nothing? Who are you, anyway? I know you are not one of my father’s guards, and yet you knew my name.”

Another long silence fell, in which Miriel fell behind and was pushed forward again. When she returned, slightly worse off yet again, Amoniel finally spoke.

“My name is Amoniel. I live near enough to know you and your name. I wanted to get you to trust me, so I could get us away from the spider’s home. Pretending to be sent by your father seemed to be the easiest way to do so.”

Amoniel had finished, but Miriel was not satisfied.

“What is your reason for following me to begin with? And if you were so concerned with spiders, why did you dig a pit in the middle of their territory? And most importantly, why did you bring me to the orcs?” Her voice was practically at an audible level, and her eyes flashed with anger.

“Hush, or the orcs will hear us.”

“Then answer me!”

Amoniel paused a moment longer, glancing at Miriel for the second time. Miriel looked ready to shout, and her eyes seemed to be able to look directly into Amoniel’s mind. Amoniel made up her mind to speak, looking away quickly as she did so. “I did not know the spiders existed in that part of Mirkwood when I dug the trap. It was… long ago. I am sorry you fell into it. But I was not following you; I was following the orcs. I just happened to see you.”

“You did not answer my last question.” Miriel’s whisper was fierce.

“I’m certain you heard the orc leader. They had information. I needed to trade you.”

“You thought they would keep their side of the deal?” Miriel asked. Amoniel was clearly a very cunning elleth. Why would she throw herself upon the mercy of these merciless creatures?

“I was blind. What I was after…” She trailed off.

“You might as well tell me. It doesn't look like we're going to get out of this any time soon.”

Amoniel glanced at her companion. A reluctance to talk swept over her, her thoughts once more returning entirely to the ring. She spoke, her voice slightly pitching higher with every word. “I was following them. I heard them talking about a ring. It seemed valuable. I want it. I think it will be worth much, and I do not have very much. I _need_ it.” Amoniel coughed slightly, unintentionally, cutting off her words. The orcs glanced at her suspiciously, and Amoniel and Miriel were silent for a while.

The urgency in Amoniel’s voice had startled Miriel, and, at the mention of the ring, a strange feeling grew in the back of her mind. Something wasn't right. Although Amoniel spoke as though she wanted the ring for the money it would bring her, it also seemed as though she wanted the ring for herself alone. But slightly more pressingly: “Why would orcs want a ring?” Miriel asked, half to herself, half to Amoniel. This ring was more than it seemed, but she just couldn't put her finger on what it was.

A short silence followed, while they both pondered the question. Finally, Amoniel spoke. “I don’t know. But, if they want it badly enough to come close to elves, then it must be something of value.” Amoniel’s hands twitched, and Miriel thought she understood what they were searching for, automatically, subconsciously, unknowingly: her bag, to rifle through the contents once again, making sure they were all there. A thief’s twitch.

Miriel looked at Amoniel again, closely. Her eyes still seemed to be searching her thoughts. “You're a petty thief, aren't you?”

Amoniel glanced at Miriel, unintentionally. Miriel’s eyes demanded nothing but the truth, an exchange for the many lies. Well, fine. The truth, then. “More than petty, less than infamous.”

Before Miriel could respond, the orcs came to a sudden halt. The night was half over, and they were taking a short break. The two orcs guarding the elves for the moment were given some command, and they herded Miriel and Amoniel to the far edge of the group of orcs. Finally given a break, Miriel gratefully rested on the ground, carefully stretching her swollen ankle in front of her. Amoniel stood for a second longer, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. One of the orc guards sidled up and suddenly grabbed her arms from behind. She twisted, violently, but seconds later her hands were free, and she was pushed to the ground. Before she could process that she had been untied, her old waterskin was thrown at her. A much nicer one was thrown at Miriel, an old present from Berion. It was full of slightly more cool water than Amoniel’s. Both girls gratefully drank the water inside, relishing the last of their own small supply over a few minute’s time.

Amoniel threw Miriel a carefully measured look, which Miriel thought looked rather vacuous. Amoniel moved slightly closer to Miriel, and carefully pressed Miriel’s hair flower back into Miriel’s palm. Correctly understanding the look Miriel gave her in return, Amoniel whispered, “It fell out of your hair, earlier. I didn’t steal it,” and returned to drinking her water.

Miriel secured the flower back over her ear inconspicuously. She doubted if the orcs would really care, but she didn’t want to take that chance. She, too, finished her water.

As the orcs began to grow closer to moving again, Miriel and Amoniel grew more uncertain and anxious. They had both polished off their small water supply, and neither had been given further instructions. Eventually, an orc arrived to tie Amoniel’s hands again. Miriel was allowed to be unrestrained, as her broken ankle prevented her from running away, anyway. Their waterskins were taken back by the orcs and disappeared amongst the throng of massing orcs. Amoniel felt a pang as she realized, not for the last time, that her waterskin, her bag, her sword, were all orc property now. She had not seen so much as a scrap of her bag’s cloth since she was captured, and she doubted she would see her old waterskin again. At least Miriel’s appeared to be worth something; Amoniel’s would probably be thrown into the bushes. She wished she could rifle through her bag again, at least. She felt like crying, she felt angry, and, mostly, she felt guilty. She looked at Miriel, who was not currently staring back, and scratched her fingers absentmindedly behind her back, lost in despairing thought.

Miriel, too, had come to the realization that her items would not be returning to her. She hoped they would at least find their way back to her father, somehow. She also hoped that she would find her way back to her father, somehow. She missed him, and the distance felt much longer than half a night’s travel. She didn’t think she could walk on her broken ankle for even the rest of the night, much less the rest of the week. She was already stiff from taking a break from walking for a few minutes. There were still many hours of the night left before the sun rose, and the moon would not light up the night for many more days. It would be a long time before sunrise, but she felt that it would be longer for her father. When she did not return, surely he would send a search party after her. The orcs weren’t exactly covering their tracks, but they had covered much ground since Miriel would have been expected home. And Berion would have to take some time to assemble a small force to go after her, if he even presumed her to be with the orcs, or alive. She hoped he would figure it out, soon. Until then, she would have to wait, and to walk. Somehow, the hours would pass, and that would eventually bring the sweet relief of rest. She was certain she would feel every aching second of it, and she hoped Amoniel, the unknown traitor, would remain silent. She wanted to find out more about Amoniel, but she also didn’t have the energy, currently, to be holding another accusing conversation. The talk earlier had sapped more of her energy than she cared to admit, and it had given her much to stew on. The road stretched for miles, but her thoughts stretched as well. The pace eventually smoothed out to a level Miriel could handle, and her thoughts were free to roam as the crescent moon crossed the sky.

Amoniel and Miriel pushed forward in silence, both feeling more than just the distance slipping by.

 

“We will camp here for the day,” an orc commanded gruffly, many hours later. At his words, Miriel dropped to the ground, relieved. Her guard roughly yanked her off the ground and pulled her hands behind her back to tie them once more, wrenching Miriel’s walking stick away. The two elves were placed in one of the outer rings of the orc’s camp under a watchful eye. Despite much needing to be said, they didn’t speak for a long time yet. The early morning air was cold, and the slowly rising sun reminded them of how long the day would be if they did not rest.

Miriel breathed slowly, in and out, trying to mentally conquer the pain in her leg and head. She wished her hands were free. Her knowledge of healing was limited, but she at least knew enough that she could ease the discomfort, if only her hands weren’t tied. The irritation of lying on the ground with her hands tied and the unceasing pain grew as the minutes passed, finally becoming unbearable. She sat up, with a bit of a struggle, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

“You need to elevate your leg,” Amoniel whispered, breaking the silence. She felt the need to take care of this child, even if Miriel wouldn’t ask for help. She had gotten the elleth into this mess, anyway. The least she could do was give Miriel some advice, some companionship.

“Using what, exactly?” The biting tone wasn’t unexpected, but the wavering sound of Miriel’s voice told Amoniel all she had to know. Miriel was in pain and too stubborn to admit it.

“Come closer. Just put your leg on me. You need to keep it above your heart to keep the swelling down.”

“And I should trust you? Why?”

“It’s us against the orcs, now. You are all I have, Miriel. I’m sorry I… I-I’m sorry.” An awkward silence fell for a second. Miriel wondered if Amoniel was sorry for the pit or for treating her like a tradable item. Amoniel hoped she understood it was for both. She continued. “You need to take care of yourself. Wrap your cloak around you as much as you can. And put your leg on top of mine. It will be fine, Miriel. I am going to take you home. I am sorry.”

“I still do not trust you. But if you can get me home, then I suppose you will have earned at least that much.”

Feeling another pulse of pain begin to radiate from her ankle, Miriel complied, uncertainly resting her broken ankle on Amoniel’s legs, who gently nodded and closed her eyes. Miriel stared towards the distant mountain peaks, deep in thought. She did not trust Amoniel in the least. The lies, the thieving, this issue with a ring, and something about the way she treated her, just didn't add up. But what could Miriel do? She did not have the energy to resist, and it was probably in her best interest to play dumb, at least for now.

The sun beat down, but it had barely cracked the morning chill by late afternoon. Soon, the days would grow longer, and the sun would make cloaks unbearable. For now, though, the girl’s cloaks kept them protected from the sun and the cold. With their hands tied, they had needed to help each other pull their hoods up and their cloaks closed. In spite of their unfortunate plight, when Miriel fell asleep, Amoniel couldn’t help but test how strongly the shining, leaf-shaped brooch holding Miriel’s cloak shut was attached. If it had been looser, and if Miriel wouldn’t have noticed, than Amoniel would have stolen it. She shuddered to touch Miriel’s blood stained cloak, although the material, she noted, felt expensive. She was jealous, knowing that Miriel led the life she herself could have led. Before falling asleep, Miriel couldn’t help but notice that Amoniel’s cloak was thick, but cheaply made. Several holes had been hastily sewn shut here and there. In fact, all of Amoniel’s items had been the same: useable, low quality, and with several hasty fixes. She wondered further where this elf had come from.

Despite the bright, watery light, eventually both had nodded off. Amoniel was used to sleeping during the day, certainly, but usually under the trees. The sun was brighter in the open, but she still managed to fall asleep fairly quickly. Miriel’s exhaustion from staying up so long and being forced to walk on a broken ankle lent her the ability to fall asleep even faster. Both slept fairly dreamlessly, although Amoniel aimlessly moved around a bit in her sleep. Only the protection of exhaustion kept Miriel’s ankle from waking her when Amoniel moved. The orc guarding them switched out several times, but neither elf awoke. They had a long journey ahead of them.

The girls were rudely awakened at dusk by rough hands forcing them to their feet again. They were given tiny morsels of bland, stale bread, and some unknown meat that resembled old leather in taste and in appearance. Miriel nibbled the bread but refused to touch the meat. Orcs were know to have meat from… anything. Amoniel devoured both, having been used to less than adequate food at times and knowing she needed to keep her energy up. Miriel’s untouched meat disappeared somewhere inside Amoniel’s cloak, quicker than the blink of an eye. Thieve’s pockets, Miriel noted. She wondered if Amoniel had managed to keep anything valuable in them. They had also been offered water that felt gritty and tasted dirty. Amoniel downed all of it by filtering it through her filthy cloak into her mouth. “Removes most of the dirt,” she had muttered helpfully at Miriel.

Miriel took the canteen of water and took a large draught, using her cloak the same way. Even though it filtered out most of the filth, the water still tasted overwhelmingly like… dirt. She shook her head in disgust and practically threw the offensive bottle back to its owner. It would be better to die of thirst than to have to drink it. “Too gritty,” she muttered, angrily.

Just seconds after finishing their pitiful rations, the orcs tied Amoniel’s hands and forced them along once again. Miriel took one step and crumpled to the ground. Her captor grumbled in disapproval.

Upon seeing Miriel's inability to walk, the orc guarding her forced the same strange, burning potion down her throat as before. The second guard looked on in disapproval as Miriel choked it down.

“Why are we wasting that on this elf-child?” the doubting orc asked scornfully. “We will no doubt need it in battle.”

“Shut up, Globum,” the other orc snapped back, slapping his shoulder roughly. “We can't have the brat fainting the whole way. The sooner we take them to the cave, the sooner we can return to the forest to demolish the elves.” A hideous expression somewhat resembling a smile spread across his face as he and the other orc laughed over the thought. Miriel's blood ran cold despite the fiery liquid coursing through her veins. They weren’t speaking Orkish. They wanted her to hear. Well, she wouldn’t faint on them. She could at least retain that dignity. They pushed her ahead to walk alongside Amoniel.

“Are you all right?” Amoniel whispered.

Miriel nodded, bitterly.

Amoniel’s eyebrows knitted together. “Did they say,” she stopped, studying Miriel’s face carefully. “Did they say they were going to attack the elves?”

Miriel nodded again, a pained expression on her face.

“Great,” Amoniel muttered sarcastically, twisting her fingers together behind her back.

They spoke little as the rest of the night dragged on, though their thoughts raced. They both had a lot to think on, now. The orcs pressed them forward constantly, always wanting to move faster towards the mountains. It was all Miriel could do to stay on her feet and away from her captors’ rough hands and cruel clubs. The hours ran together into an indeterminate amount of time, and it seemed to the elves that they had been trudging over the rough ground for eternity.

They rarely spoke when they walked, and their few breaks consisted of only a minute or two of rest and poor rations. The orcs constantly leered and jeered at the girls, but rarely in the common language. Amoniel and Miriel began to get used to the pattern. Untying Amoniel’s hands, stale bread, meat which continued to disappear inside Amoniel’s cloak, gritty water Miriel began to be less apprehensive about, tying Amoniel’s hands, and more walking. Amoniel attempted to speak to Miriel several times, but the determined look on Miriel’s face more than anything stopped her. Miriel was trying to save her energy to continue walking. Amoniel admired her. One so young rarely had such ambition and stamina.

Sunrise and sunset, the only two times the orcs were occupied with setting up camp long enough to keep less of a close eye on them, was when they held small conversations. The second sunrise since they had been captured, Miriel started the conversation. “May I use you to prop my ankle?”

Amoniel smiled, but it held no real emotion. She was too tired. “Of course.”

Miriel still didn’t like Amoniel, but at least Amoniel had apologized yesterday. And she really wanted to know one thing. “Where do you keep putting the meat I don’t eat?”

Amoniel’s smile suddenly held a spark. Her eyes danced up and made sure the orc guarding them wasn’t really paying attention. She moved a little closer to Miriel. “I’ve got pockets sewn in my cloak.”

Miriel also watched the guard and moved closer. They were speaking Sindarin, but it would be better if the orcs thought they weren’t talking at all. “Is there anything in your pockets we can use?”

Amoniel’s smile wilted. “I usually keep them empty. They are not big enough to pocket anything but tiny treasures. I have a few daisies that have probably turned brown by now, but not much more. When I pick-pocket people,” here she paused, as if momentarily ashamed, “they are where the items go, if I can fit them.”

“Nothing we can use, then?” Miriel was disappointed. How could a thief not keep an extra weapon on them?

“I am afraid not. I would sleep now. You look tired, Miriel.” Amoniel closed her eyes.

Miriel noticed how quickly Amoniel had changed the topic and ended the conversation. She wondered if Amoniel was still keeping some secrets hidden. She wouldn’t doubt it. But what could be in her pockets? Something of value, to be certain. There had to be more than just daisies and dried meat in there. There _had_ to be. Why wasn’t Amoniel using it? Then again, she had secrets herself… Secret pockets, indeed. Miriel’s ankle began to throb painfully, effectively stifling her train of thought. She would think more about on Amoniel’s secrets tomorrow, when the orcs gave her more of their bitter medicine.

The next night brought much of the same. Amoniel wondered if Miriel’s ankle would ever get better when she was constantly being forced to walk on it. It didn’t appear that way. Although the orcs continued to force Miriel to drink some sort of potion that kept her walking, it only seemed to be prolonging Miriel’s descent. She was getting slower every night instead of improving. It was only a matter of time before she couldn’t walk at all, and then what would happen? Amoniel wouldn’t leave Miriel behind, having learnt her lesson after betraying Miriel the first time.

Amoniel thought back to their conversation the previous sunrise, just before they had fallen asleep. As it turned out, Amoniel was keeping more in her secret pockets than she let on. Among other things, she had an old pocket knife. It was just a simple, folding knife with a three inch blade. Although it wasn’t entirely sharp anymore, it could slice through rope with just a little effort. She hadn’t told Miriel, as it wouldn’t do any good if they couldn’t get away, and she was hesitant to use it as a weapon. As the nights dragged on and Mirkwood grew farther away, the knife had seemed more and more necessary. Last sunset, as Miriel palely accepted the fate of another long night of walking, Amoniel had made use of the brief moment her hands were untied to transfer the pocket knife into a hidden sleeve pocket. She was lucky her shirt sleeves were loose enough to hold small objects, but if it came down to it, she still wasn’t sure she could pull the knife out with her hands bound. She was certain the orcs wouldn’t give her much of a chance. She was also uncertain if she could summon the courage to draw blood without throwing up.

As a matter of fact, thinking about the orcs and uncertainties, Amoniel wasn’t entirely sure of why the orcs had taken Miriel and herself under the pretense of hostages. Since the orc had told Miriel they planned on destroying the elves anyway, she didn't want to think about why the orcs were keeping them alive. She had a few theories, none of them pleasant. She prayed the orcs were truly using them as hostages, and nothing more. If this was true, and Berion was given any hint as to where Miriel was, Amoniel knew he would send forces after her. That could be why the orcs were taking them somewhere so remote; so the elves wouldn’t be close enough to steal Miriel back. But if they were going to attack the elves anyway, what purpose did the hostages serve?

Miriel suddenly stumbled and fell, cutting off Amoniel’s spinning thoughts. Amoniel looked on in worry as her friend painfully climbed back to her feet, unable to help. Amoniel was pushed forward by another orc, forced to keep walking. She turned, straining to glimpse Miriel. “Hurry up!” an orc yelled, hitting Miriel so hard she fell almost as soon as she was back on her feet.

“Don’t!” Amoniel cried out, on instinct.

The orc turned to her. Ah. That was a mistake. At least he wasn’t taunting Miriel anymore. The orc, who stood at least a head taller than Amoniel, stomped closer. She shrank back, but ran into another orc. Her hands was still tied. _Oh God, I'm so exposed, I'm going to die here, and they probably know the elves don't care about me, either. They know I'm not a viable hostage, PLEASE―_

The orc smacked her so hard she fell to the ground, head spinning. She cringed, expecting to be kicked. Her hands half-heartedly fumbled to remove the knife from her sleeve. “Get up, elf-scum!”

_Get up? They're not going to kill me? Well, that's good. Maybe I don’t need to use my knife, after all._ Amoniel sat up and painfully got to her feet, hands still tied behind her back. Her head spun, and she had to focus to stay on her feet. Miriel had finally managed to catch up to Amoniel, and the orcs pushed them both forward again.

“Thanks,” Miriel muttered. She was truly grateful that Amoniel had saved her from further injury. Perhaps she could be trusted, after all, if only a bit.

“No problem,” Amoniel whispered, dazed. Her knife jostled itself back into place in her sleeve.

Nothing else was spoken between them until sunrise, but it was a companionable enough silence.

When the sun peeked over the horizon, and their hands untied, they spoke over the small dinner they had been given. “Your cloak works as a better filter if you run the water through the same spot every day, you know.”

Miriel grimaced. “It still tastes gritty.”

“Ah, yes. That does not go away.” Miriel stared at the brightening rays in the distance, and Amoniel followed her gaze. “I do believe your father will come for you.”

Miriel contemplated Amoniel’s words. Hearing her father being mentioned stung; she missed him. She hoped he would learn enough of what had happened to come. She wondered who, if anyone, would come for Amoniel. “If the orcs have told him, he will send someone for us.”

Amoniel brought up what had been on both of their minds since the night before. “Are the orcs truly planning to attack the elves soon, do you think?”

“They have been gathering recently… I think it is likely.” Miriel thought back to all the elf meetings she had missed, and wished she had attended more of them. Although boring, they often discussed sensitive material that the civilian elves were not privy to. She remembered now, one night, her father coming home distressed from one of those meetings.

“Every day, more orcs pour into Dol Guldur,” he had told her. “They have been seen in the woods all around our homes, everywhere, it is only a matter of time before they become aggressive.” She had seen it for herself, how bold the orcs were getting, when she took her walks through the surrounding woods. She had also seen the ominous mark of the Dark Lord on their armor. Yes, an attack was highly likely.

Amoniel nodded grimly. “If we aren't returned or rescued by then…” She trailed off. She wasn't sure if she wanted to discuss this with Miriel, an elf barely more than a child, but it had been gnawing at her. She needed to know what someone else thought. Miriel was about to answer when they were both interrupted.

“Meal time’s over,” an orc growled, plucked the water bottle from Miriel’s hand and startling both elves. He pushed her forward in order to tie her hands behind her back.

Miriel looked up and shared a knowing glance with Amoniel. They both knew what would happen if the orcs got to keep them. Death, or worse. Amoniel was sorry she brought it up.

Only light conversation followed, both of them ignoring the heavier topics spinning in their heads. Miriel again decided against asking Amoniel who she really was, not wanting to cause any issues while they were still amongst the orcs. _Later_ , she promised herself.

As the day wore on, Amoniel was plagued with nightmares, and they caused her to toss more than usual in her sleep. At one point, she kicked out, waking Miriel in a burst of pain. “ _Amoniel_ ,” she hissed, fiercely, when the blooming, pounding pain in her ankle had subsided.

Amoniel’s eyes simply whipped back and forth, trapped in her nightmares. Miriel moved herself away, somewhat. The sun was high in the sky by this point. Better to let Amoniel rest, even if the rest was uneasy, but sleep did not return to Miriel for some time.


	3. Chapter 3

At the start of the fourth night, they could hear the sounds of water flowing in the distance. A line of green was coming up ahead of them. By the middle of the night, the escort had reached the edge of the Anduin. The orcs walked along the bank until they had found a place shallow enough to walk through. The two elves were pushed to the edge of the water. Amoniel worried for the items in her pockets. They were certainly not secure enough, and the water looked deep. She thought of a ruse to save her items and implemented it, bringing her fear of the orcs to the surface to fuel her performance. “Please, untie my hands, please, I cannot cross―”

“Shut up!”

Amoniel received another slap that made her ears ring, but she didn’t give up. “Please, I can’t swim,” she begged, lying in the hopes that the orcs would talk pity on her. She forced tears into her eyes, making herself shake.

Miriel glanced at Amoniel suspiciously, tiredly. Surely this wasn’t Amoniel’s attempt at escape?

“I said to shut up!” Amoniel was smacked again, but the orc began to converse with another beside him in their ugly language. The water rushed by, threatening. A few seconds later, the orc turned back to Amoniel and untied her hands with force enough to give her rope-burn. “You got lucky, elf.”

“Thank you―” Amoniel was pushed into the river with a yelp, and struggled to keep her head above water. Miriel wasn’t far behind.

The river water was freezing, and, even at the bank, already up to Miriel’s shoulders. The cold took her breath away, and made her ankle ache horribly. She stumbled as her captor pushed her relentlessly forward, and then jerked her back as the water washed over her head. At the deepest part of the river, the cool flow lapped right beneath Miriel’s eyes. The flower in her hair slipped out, the browning petals finally stolen by the current. She was focused too much on merely surviving to notice. The trudge through the current seemed to last for centuries, and when it finally ended, Miriel was shaking so hard she could barely stand.

When Amoniel was shoved into the river, she used the cover of the water to transfer her knife to a more secure pocket in her cloak. A little more rust wouldn’t hurt it, although she would have to attempt to dry it off when she got a chance. She also subtly patted a pocket over her heart. That one contained a tiny picture, but she had sealed it between two pieces of sturdy glass many years ago. That pocket was extremely secure, and she wasn’t too worried that the picture would slip away. Her other pockets didn’t have much in them but a few daisies, which she allowed to be stolen by the current, and the dried meat Miriel had been not been eating for the past few days. The meat had already gotten wet, and she reluctantly let the current take it. Surely, soggy meat would not last in her cloak. She stood still in the water a moment longer, enjoying the buoyancy and the flow, and was promptly pushed down again by another orc. “Keep moving,” he said, as if she didn’t already know.

Her journey through the river was much easier than Miriel’s. Amoniel felt comfortable in the water, even though it froze her to the bone. She pretended to have a rough time, to perpetuate her lie of being unable to swim, but it was no more difficult for her than walking with her hands tied behind her back. Speaking of, she let her rope-burned wrists soak in the current while she waded through the water. _This isn’t too bad_ , she thought.

A gasp came from somewhere to her right, and she cringed at the noise. It was Miriel, just getting past the deepest part of the stream. She wanted to swim to Miriel, to help her, but several orcs had found their way between the two. Amoniel seethed. Miriel was just a child! She didn’t deserve this.

_It’s all your fault, Amoniel_. She told her thoughts to hush, but they wouldn’t. _You injured her, you put her in this situation, and if she dies it’s_ your _fault._ Miriel tripped out of the stream, shivering. _No sun to dry her off for many hours, yet. It won’t be warm, either._ Amoniel tried to move to Miriel’s side, but an orc forcefully grabbed her arm. _Oh, what now?_

“Thought you could get away? Not on my watch.”

The orc tied her hands behind her back again, and Amoniel mentally rebuked herself. Her knife was still in a deep pocket of her cloak. Not that that would make much difference, anyway. She had never killed anyone before, and she doubted she could start now. Blood, even the thought of an orc bleeding out, still made her instantly nauseous. The orc finished tieing her wrists roughly, scraping her rope burns, and she impatiently waiting for him to finish. He finally did, pushing her forward to start walking again. She moved briskly towards Miriel as the orcs began to head away from the river.

“Miriel, are you all right?” Miriel was looking pale, and her entire body was shivering. Amoniel noticed the flower that had adorned Miriel’s hair was gone. Miriel didn’t answer at first, so Amoniel gently tapped her with her shoulder. “Miriel?”

“Leave me alone, Amoniel.”

Amoniel was taken aback, briefly, but didn’t heed Miriel. “You’re not all right, I can see it. You need to―”

Miriel turned her back on Amoniel and walked away.

“Wait!”

Miriel remained at least ten feet from Amoniel, shivering and leaning heavily on her makeshift crutch. Amoniel eventually realized Miriel was expending more energy trying to stay away from her and backed off. Her fingers kept twitching, longing to take an inventory of items in the bag the orcs had stolen from her, to return to some semblance of normalcy. She briefly wondered if the orcs had kept her bag around, somewhere. She hadn’t seen any of them carrying it. Miriel stumbled, and her temporary, brief distraction left her mind. Her bag was less important than keeping Miriel alive. If Miriel collapsed, would the orcs leave her lying on the road? She thought not. Miriel was a fairly valuable hostage. She could even volunteer to carry Miriel, if it came to that. Maybe, just maybe, if her hands were free, she could outrun the orcs while carrying Miriel. Miriel really hadn’t eaten much for the past few days, and she was already small. She would be easy to carry. Amoniel got lost in her own thoughts of escape, spacing out for hours while watching Miriel carefully. The sun was rising almost before she knew it.

Miriel was not as lucky. She was trying to be lost in her thoughts, but the bursts of pain and steady shivering kept intruding. All she could focus on was the chill, the pain in her ankle, her throbbing head, her uncomfortable walking stick. The hours did not blend together, as they did for Amoniel. She lived through each minute, each second, with painful clarity. She kept hoping the cold would numb her pain, or at least send her into some type of shock, but it only served as a cruel reminder of her situation. Amoniel had done this to her. Amoniel had put her in this situation, allowed her to suffer this agony. Amoniel wasn’t even shivering anymore. Traitorous elf. To think she had, briefly, begun to consider Amoniel an ally, forgetting who had given her to the orcs in the first place. Not anymore.

_Amoniel is, also, captured, though, remember?_ Miriel pushed the thought away angrily. Amoniel hadn’t meant to be captured. She was thriving amongst the orcs. She was sleeping well when they stopped, moving around in her dreams and waking Miriel up. She was eating everything the orcs gave her, and never complained of being hungry. Miriel observed that Amoniel was doing just fine. She found she couldn’t stand Amoniel, and this thought returned to her periodically.

Even her angry thoughts at Amoniel only lasted in small bursts, however, as another bout of shivering began, or her ankle had another burst of pain, or… The symptoms were unending. It felt like her body and spirit were falling apart. She didn’t know how the hours passed when every second crawled by in vivid bursts of pain, but they did. Finally, the sun began to rise, and the orcs announced they were setting up camp.

Miriel fell upon the nearest patch of ground immediately. Amoniel impatiently waited for her raw wrists to be untied by an orc and hurried over. Miriel was still shaking when Amoniel gently touched her shoulder, but not quite as badly. Other than shivering and breathing, Miriel wasn’t moving. Amoniel shook Miriel gently, and Miriel opened her eyes enough to glare. Amoniel drew back. Clearly, Miriel was not going to die.

The orcs threw Amoniel’s pitiful rations, which hit her and bounced to the ground. Amoniel abandoned shaking Miriel to pick them out of the dirt and devour them gratefully. The river had made her hungry. However guilty she felt about Miriel, she thought would be a better help as soon as they had both eaten. And maybe Miriel would be slightly less angry. Amoniel had already finished most of her meal when the orcs with food turned their backs on the two elves, beginning to walk away. Amoniel quickly stopped chugging the water they had given her and stood. “Hey! What about Miriel’s food?”

The orcs walked back the few feet, towering over Amoniel. Her fingers twitched to the hilt of her sword before recalling that it wasn’t there anymore. They simply itched in response to the missing sword, and she struggled against the urge to scratch them.

“Your friend doesn’t seem to be hungry,” one leered, gesturing to the sleeping Miriel.

Amoniel straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, standing on the tips of her toes. She wished she didn’t feel four feet tall. “She has been walking all day, through a river. She needs to eat.”

The other orc simply smacked Amoniel to the ground. She hit, hard, bruising her arms and tailbone. It would hurt to walk for the next few days. _Not as much as it hurts Miriel_ , whispered her brain, and she stood again. “She needs food!”

The orc lifted a hand, and Amoniel stumbled backwards in fear, falling to the ground again. The orcs laughed. Amoniel’s entire hands itched now, begging her to pull her sword out or feel inside her bag. She wiped them on the ground, roughly, catching sight of Miriel’s shivering body out of the corner of her eye. Miriel’s cloak was still a little damp. Amoniel glared at the orcs and began to stand up again, suddenly feeling her anger turn to brave stupidity. They kicked her, bruising her ribs and knocking the wind out of her. She lay, gasping, as the orcs continued to laugh. “Looks like you’re not very hungry, either, elf-scum.”

They grabbed the remaining bit of bread and the water sack, even as Amoniel reached for them, seeing flashes of light pulsing in front of her eyes. “Orc-scum,” Amoniel mimicked, reaching in her cloak for her pocket knife and standing at the same time. She had had enough of the orcs constant berating, night after night after night.

The orcs, seeing her apparently reaching for a weapon, quickly grabbed her arms. The knife slipped out of her fingers and clattered to the ground. One orc, the one who had hit her, roughly forced Amoniel’s hands behind her back as the other picked the knife off the ground. “That’s mine!” she screamed, even as her hands were being tied. The orc holding her pulled the rope tight, nearly cutting off circulation entirely.

The other orc held up the knife with a grimace. “And where have you been hiding this?” he grunted.

Amoniel attempted to kick the knife out of his hands. The orc holding her pulled her out of kicking distance, so she attempted to kick him. He swore at her in the orc language, an ugly word Amoniel didn’t understand but didn’t like the sound of. He easily pushed her over and grabbed a second rope, which he used to tie her ankles together. This was also too tight, and Amoniel wriggled until the orc kicked her again. She finally stopped moving, defeated. She rubbed her fingers together, and the persistent, nagging itching feeling receded. The second orc again dangled her knife before her nose. “Do you have more of these, scum?”

“Many,” Amoniel said immediately, then flinched. She had expected to be hit for that, but nothing was incoming.

“That was all the fight she had in her,” the orc who had tied her replied. He sounded disgusted. “She probably just found the knife on the road.”

The second orc shoved the knife into his pocket. “Let her sleep.” He said something else in Orkish, and they both laughed. Amoniel couldn’t make out what it was, but she knew it was nothing kind.

The first orc gestured to Miriel, whose eyes were barely open. He said something. The second orc replied, and Amoniel thought she heard the word “three.” The first orc shook his head, and they both walked away. Another orc came soon to watch over the two elves, bringing a third rope to tie Miriel’s hands with. Not that it mattered much. Amoniel could do nothing more than flop around like a worm, and Miriel was already half asleep. Amoniel felt anger towards the orcs rise in her again and absentmindedly rubbed her fingers against her cloak, trying to satisfy an itch that wouldn’t go away. At least the orc tieing Miriel’s hands had done so under her cloak, so Miriel wouldn’t be exposed to the sun all day.

“Miriel,” she whispered. No answer. “Miriel!” She tried again, slightly louder. Miriel shifted slightly, but didn’t respond. Amoniel sighed. “I’m sorry, Miriel. I know you’re mad at me, and for good reason. I shouldn’t have involved you. I should have helped you home from the start. You’re too young. You shouldn’t have to go through this!” Amoniel’s voice was rising, and the orc guarding them took notice. She took a few deep breaths, calming herself again. “But I promised you that I would take you home, and I intend to keep that promise. I also… I wish to keep you out of harm’s way as much as I can. I hope that even if you do not forgive me, you allow me to protect you.”

Miriel shifted slightly yet again, but continued to be silent. Amoniel sighed. Silence was what she deserved. She began the arduous process of pulling her cloak over her tied hands, so she could be enveloped in protection when the sun came up. Miriel’s breathing gradually became more even, but Amoniel didn’t sleep for many hours longer.

 

The fifth night of the endless march began. Miriel sighed subconsciously. Her ankle hurt more than ever, and walking had become nearly impossible. At least the sun had dried her as she slept, driving away the chill of the river. Her stomach complained, and she ignored it. She was still ignoring Amoniel as well, despite the promises the elf had made last night. Amoniel was still the one who had gotten her into this mess, and Amoniel was the reason neither of them had been offered food when they were woken. She was a traitor to all elves, no matter her pretty promises. Miriel wondered who Amoniel really was. She didn’t believe Amoniel’s lies about living somewhere near Miriel. In fact, she didn’t believe that Amoniel had told her a single truth about her past. Miriel wasn’t about to ask, especially not now that her small vestige of trust in Amoniel had dwindled. Amoniel was being surprisingly silent tonight, seemingly lost in her own thoughts. That was good. Miriel really didn’t want to be bothered.

She glanced around her surroundings, trying to ignore the pain. The moon was hidden behind a cloud, but she could see the mountains were slowly but surely becoming closer. She thought she could also see groups of orcs, issuing from hidden crevices, coming and going from the mountain to their base in Dol Guldur. She was reminded of the attack the orcs had made on the elves the previous summer. There were many, again, swarming ever closer to Mirkwood. Were the elves back at home aware of this? Surely they were, they had to be. Maybe if she had just attended more meetings, she would have known for sure… Miriel felt the sudden urge to run home, to beg her father to do something about the horrible creatures. They had watched them in silence too long, much too long.

Miriel’s thoughts were rudely interrupted as the stone under her foot turned over suddenly, causing her broken ankle to twist excruciatingly.  She couldn't hold in the cry of distress that was instantly on her lips as she stumbled to the ground. Her hands flew to her throbbing ankle and she gripped her leg just above it, breathing hard, squeezing to fend off the pain.

Amoniel instantly lunged at Miriel, attempting to help her back up, but the orc guarding her yanked her back. Her fingers twisted, attempting to break the rope holding them in place. The rope bit into her wrist, finally causing the raw skin to bleed, as Amoniel resisted the urge to kick the nearest orc hard enough to break his shin. She shuddered, feeling the blood running down her hands, but remained focused on Miriel. Her own problems could wait, for now. She could ignore the light-headed fear of blood for once in her life. She watched the scene unfold in tense silence, pale as a corpse.

Miriel’s guard gave her a sharp kick in the small of her back and jerked her back to her feet. Miriel’s injured foot gave away instantly, and she fell back down, crying out again. It hurt a lot, almost as much as when she had fallen in the pit. Miriel knew there was no way she could walk on it now. She didn’t even think she could stand. She couldn’t remember when she had eaten last, and she felt weak. Her head throbbed, and her ankle throbbed back intensely.

The orc guarding her grunted in annoyance and pulled out the dirty canteen of the strange healing fluid again. The leader noticed and shook his head.

“We've wasted enough of that on this useless elf. Make her get up.”

The orc nodded and grabbed Miriel by the shoulders, forcing her to stand. She cried out again, her knees buckling. He roared in rage. “Stay on your feet, elf-scum, or you’ll be sorry!”

“I am trying!” There was pain and anger in Miriel's voice, which was quickly rising.  

“Shut up!” The guard’s fury got the better of him, and he smashed the metal heel of his boot into Miriel’s ankle. “If you think it is difficult to walk now, you just wait! I’ll show you!” Miriel screamed in pain, trying in vain to scramble away from her captor. She couldn’t stand. The orc brought his heavy fist down several times on Miriel’s bent back. She finally collapsed motionless to the ground, and Amoniel shrieked something. The furious guard started a new flurry of blows on Miriel, but was wrenched away by his boss.

“You worthless fool!” he bellowed, whacking the lesser orc with a club. “The elf-scum must be taken quickly to the caves. Now it can't even walk, because of you!”

“Don't hit me,” the guard whined, groveling at the leaders feet. “Besides, carrying it will be faster!”

“All right, pick it up and keep going then!” The leader clearly had no patience left. He shook his head and started back to the front of the procession.

The guard picked up Miriel, who remained completely limp. He slung her over his shoulder, and continued walking.

Amoniel had watched the whole scene in shock. She hadn’t seemed to be able to force words out of her mouth while they had been beating Miriel. Finally, she could choke out a response. “Be careful with her!”

The orcs carrying Miriel gave her a nasty glare. “Shut your trap!”

“Then don’t carry her like that!”

“Insolent elf!” the orc yelled. “How would you like to carry her? That’ll teach you to watch your mouth!”

Amoniel stood in angry silence as the orcs freed her hands and tossed Miriel at her. Clutching Miriel closely, Amoniel was shocked at how little Miriel seemed to weigh. She pulled the edge of Miriel's cloak closer around her tense body, shifting her weight to a more comfortable position. The orcs pushed her forward, and she nearly overbalanced before gaining her feet and moving forward. The walking pace she had assumed for the last four nights was apparently no longer fast enough, as the orcs forced her to start running.

“There, now we can really move fast!” Several of the orcs laughed viciously. Amoniel imagined their heads on pikes.

Amoniel tried to ignore the orcs’ prodding at her back as she was forced to jog along. She glanced at Miriel's face. It was pale and expressionless, the eyes barely fluttering under her lids. Amoniel was extremely concerned. Miriel had not eaten anything for almost two days. When she had eaten, it had only been a tiny square of bread and a mouthful of dirty water. That alone was bad news, but the fact that she had fallen unconscious was very disconcerting. She thought she could see a few bruises forming on Miriel’s arms, and she had to physically stop herself from simply tripping the orc nearest her.

In fact, now that she had Miriel in her arms, she had to stop herself from attempting any of her numerous, wild escape plans. Anger had gotten her nowhere before, and thoughts of dangerous escape would get her nowhere now.

As she was contemplating her few more realistic plans again, she spotted the orc who had taken her knife off her the night before. He was not far away, just to her right. In fact, his pocket was at just the right height. Amoniel’s fingers itched deeply, a familiar feeling. _A chance for revenge,_ they seemed to whisper at her. _Something to satiate the itching._ She altered her course slightly, just enough. She ran into the orc, briefly, and bounced off. “Watch it, scum,” he growled.

Amoniel cast her eyes down, as if she was expecting some sort of punishment. As expected, none of the orcs really noticed or cared. She carefully transferred her retrieved knife to an inner pocket of her cloak seconds later, supporting Miriel with one arm for half a second. It was done. She felt like laughing. Stealing the knife back had raised her spirits, giving her a much needed dopamine rush. Thieving was so easy, so pleasing. She hadn’t stolen anything in over a week, and it had been affecting her. The knife was a lovely appetizer, keeping her skills sharp, and―

Miriel’s brooch suddenly gleamed in the moonlight, and Amoniel groaned. It would be so easy to just take it off her now. Miriel was sleeping. The orcs wouldn’t care, even if they saw. Her fingers twitched in anticipation. She wanted to take it, so badly. Surely Miriel wouldn’t notice… She bit the side of her cheek, hard enough to draw blood. Instantly, the desire to steal was replaced with the all-consuming feeling of blood in her mouth. She panicked, slightly, but breathed deeply to calm herself down.

_It’s just blood, you’ve done this before, it will stop bleeding, you’re not dying, you’re all right, and, oh, did you forget there’s blood dripping down your wrists, as well?_ The voice in her head changed from comforting to panicked in an instant. Amoniel suddenly recalled the rope biting into her wrists, the blood running down. She had forgotten it while watching Miriel being hit so soon after she had promised to protect the little elleth. She pictured the dried blood from her wrists mixing into Miriel’s cape, rubbing back against her hands. Had she gotten any on her knife? _There’s blood everywhere, Amoniel, you’re bleeding to death now, and you have so many, many veins in your wrist!_

Amoniel almost wished she could go back to feeling the urge to steal. This feeling was much worse, far more draining. Her arms felt limp, weak, and useless. Miriel nearly tumbled out of them then and there. _No, shut up about the blood!_ Amoniel forced herself to toughen up. She was carrying Miriel, and she couldn’t drop Miriel. Miriel was just a kid. She was taking Miriel home; she had to protect Miriel. She licked the inside of her cheek and shuddered at the taste of blood. She wondered when the orcs would finally let her rest.

 

Miriel awoke to find herself being carried by someone. Not an orc, though, so who? Had she been rescued? A sudden sharp exclamation from a gravelly voice removed that hope. She was still amongst orcs. She forced her eyes open and saw a familiar ratty, dark cloak.

“Amoniel?” Miriel shifted around, wincing slightly, remembering being hit by the angry orc. She could feel bruises forming on her back.

“You’re awake!” There was a good deal of relief in Amoniel’s voice, which she kept soft despite being out of breath. “Do you feel all right?”

“I-I think so.” Miriel rubbed her eyes. “I can try to walk, I think.”

“You shouldn’t, your ankle has been through enough stress today. Not to mention the river yesterday. And the orcs are moving much faster today; I think we’re close to the end; the mountains are just ahead. Let me carry you, Miriel,” she lowered her voice even more and added, “it may give us an opportunity to escape.”

“Just let me walk, Amoniel,” Miriel was still irritated by Amoniel, remembering her false promises.

“I also may have gotten some b―,” Amoniel took a deep, steadying breath, “some blood on your cloak. Sorry.” She ignored Miriel’s annoyed plea to walk on her own feet.

Miriel felt her ankle pulse in waves of pain in time to each of Amoniel’s strides. Deep down, she was glad an orc had not carried her, as their footsteps were much heavier. Amoniel appeared to be moving as smoothly as she could over the terrain, jogging to keep up with the orcs’ faster pace while jostling Miriel as little as possible. The movement was, in a way, almost soothing. Miriel, being small, fit comfortably enough in Amoniel’s arms. Although she had told Amoniel she was fine to walk, that certainly wasn’t the truth. She wasn’t sure she would even be able to stand again, if she was set down. Only one thing kept her from simply ignoring Amoniel and going back to sleep. “Did you say ‘opportunity to escape?’”

“Um, yes, actually. I suppose if there’s an opening, I could just run off, or, if I could get my bag back―”

“I doubt they kept your bag, and I do not believe you could outrun all these orcs. Especially not so near their home.”

“Ah, yes. Probably not. But we don’t have anything better.”

Miriel didn’t like Amoniel including her in any “we” statements. “You can test your escape plans later, Amoniel. Don’t pull me further into this mess.”

Amoniel’s mouth formed a thin line. “Sorry. You can go back to sleep, if you want. We’ll be there, soon, and it will be better to be rested.”

Miriel nodded, making herself slightly more comfortable. Closing her eyes to the dark shapes of orcs, she fell asleep again in Amoniel’s arms.

* * *

She could hear whispers, repeating something, chanting it in a strange, dark language she had never heard before. The images in front of her were black and vague, until she saw clearly a bright gold ring sliding off a dark finger, and falling…

Miriel gasped deeply and tensed up, shaking. As could be expected, she was still being carried through the barren landscape by Amoniel, who hadn’t noticed her wake. She seemed to come back to reality, but the evil words of her dream continued to run through her mind as she glanced, breathing hard, at the moon.  Fear gripped its cold hand around her heart, and she turned slowly eastward. Some tower in some dark place far away was letting off a steady stream of black smoke, and an eerie red light lit far away mountains. Suddenly everything made sense.

“Isildur’s Bane…” she whispered, no one around her hearing. The mountains loomed overhead.


	4. Chapter 4

Not many days before, the guards outside of the King’s abode had been suddenly roused by a group of orcs, approaching the gate. Dozens of spears pointed at them instantly, but the group kept coming, their palms open as a sign of parley. Nevertheless, the spears stayed on their targets as a tall, dark-haired elf in bright armor and a gray cloak jumped down from his post to meet them. Tirrion, the captain of the guard.

“Why have you entered our premises?” the elf asked, his grey eyes surveying the ugly creatures with hatred. They all laughed softly, evilly.

“I believe we have a prisoner that you might be interested in,” the head orc sneered, showing a mouthful of mostly rotten teeth. He pulled out a dagger, and dropped it in front of him quickly, clearly not wanting to touch it. The elvish blade shone bright blue. “We have two of your kind. This, I believe, belongs to the Lord Berion's daughter. If you all wish to see her in one piece again, we suggest that you surrender to us. If you choose not to, the forest is full of us, and we will give you a hand. And we'll have fun with the girl, too. You have one week to comply.”

Tirrion's blood boiled with fury at the disgusting creatures’ laughter. He picked up the dagger and waved it. “Be gone from here!” The orcs ran deep into the woods, still laughing and hooting. Tirrion turned his attention back to the blade. It was no doubt Miriel's. He knew her well, and had seen it many times before. He wondered where she was, if she was all right. The second elf that had been mentioned slid out of his mind.

Tirrion strode with large strides up to the heavy oaken door that marked the entrance to the King's counsel room. Two guards stood at attention as the captain approached. “I must speak with the counsel. It is urgent.” The tone of his voice sent one of the guards moving quickly into the room. Within seconds, the door opened again.

“The counsel will hear you.”

The elves sitting around the table all turned to Tirrion as he entered. He could see their eyes glittering in the light from the one lamp on the table. The Meeting was composed of all of the King's lords and staff. All their faces were drawn and worried. The Lord Berion, at Thranduil’s left hand, looked sad on top of his concern. Even Thranduil's thick brows were knit close together. They had clearly been having a serious discussion, no doubt about the unnamed Enemy.

Tirrion set Miriel's dagger on the table with a hollow clank. Berion flew to his feet, his eyes wide, recognizing it instantly. “That belongs to my daughter.” His voice wavered slightly. “Have they found her? Is she… all right?”

“We were just brought this by a group of orcs.” Berion's eyes filled with pain. Tirrion continued. “She is alive, so they say.” A relieved sigh, from more than one elf. “But they will not bring her back, unless we surrender the city to them within a week. Then, they will attack.”

The elven Lords sat silently, deep in thought. Berion's face was hidden in his hands. Everyone looked to Thranduil for guidance, a final decision. After a long while, Thranduil spoke. “Tirrion. Prepare the city for a siege. We will not attack the orcs until they attack us, and, even then, we will close the city to them until it is no longer possible to do so. Immediately after you have done this, take a company and ride to the orcs’ camp. If possible, find the hostage, and bring her back.” Thranduil turned and addressed the counsel once more, as Tirrion bowed slightly, nodded, and left the room. “I believe this ends our discussion. War is upon us. We must prepare with all our strength.” Murmurs of agreement.

 

Later that night, Berion stood on the balcony of his home, overlooking the preparation for war. It seemed that every elf he saw was either in armor or gathering supplies and weapons for one who was. Silently, he drew his own blade, thinking of the wars it had seen. All had been fought far away. And never for so personal a cause… Berion's thoughts shifted once again to Miriel, and he mentally kicked himself for the thousandth time since her disappearance. How could he have ever allowed her to leave the elves’ territory? Even to leave the house? Berion wondered where Miriel was, and how the orcs had managed to capture her. Had she been unable to defend herself? She had her bow, and her sword and dagger. She did when she left, at least. Berion hoped that his daughter’s captors had not hurt her, but his knowledge of the ways of the orcs reminded him that it was unlikely. Berion closed his eyes tightly, trying to push out the vivid images of Miriel, bloody and beaten. What if Miriel did not survive the ordeal? He had promised Feleth that he would care for their child at all costs, as she lay dying. He had failed. The sword went back into its sheath, and Berion bowed his head.

* * *

Miriel forced her eyes open again, recognizing the change in lighting and the echoes in the orcs’ heavy steps. It was almost morning, although she had somewhat lost track of the number of days they had been traveling. It seems they had entered a crack in the side of the mountain. She didn’t remember seeing it from outside; it must have been well hidden. She noted what she could see out the rock doorway as they entered deeper into the cave. That might come in handy later on for finding this place.

So far, Amoniel seemed unaware the Miriel was awake again. She looked tired, and her arms were shaking slightly. Relief that the long journey would soon be over was mixed with fear in her face, and her jaw appeared to be clenched. Her footsteps were slightly heavier than before, more tired. Miriel felt a brief moment of sympathy, but pushed it away as her ankle throbbed yet again. _She kidnapped you, remember? This is her penance._

The orcs led their captives down through many dirty and foul smelling passages, lower and lower into the mountain. The light grew dim, and Amoniel stumbled many times on the uneven floor. Miriel winced at each rough footfall, pressing her nails into her palms to keep from making noise. Finally, they reached a cave, deep inside the mountain, where rough hollows had been hacked out of the stone, and steel bars placed over the openings. A prison. Miriel and Amoniel were promptly shoved inside one of the cells, and a guard was placed in front of the entrance. Amoniel lay Miriel gently down on the floor, checking that her breathing was still even, and then slumped herself into the corner.

Miriel lay motionless on the ground for a long time. Despite her long sleep, she was still exhausted, and it was difficult for her mind to stay a step ahead of her pain. Right now, all she could do was wait for the pain to recede enough to move again.

Amoniel fidgeted constantly in the corner, feeling each and every pocket in her cloak. She kept involuntarily reaching to her side for the bag that the orcs took, longing to rummage through it. She wanted to sleep, but she felt too anxious. Her thoughts alternated consistently between guilt for what had happened, and a strange desire for the ring. She knew that they were in this situation because of her, and her attempts to make reparations with Miriel had not soothed her guilty conscience. She wished desperately that Miriel hadn't been so badly hurt. If she hadn't, they might have been able to escape, and maybe she could feel a little less horrible. If everything had just gone smoothly, Miriel would have only been gone from her home a few days, and Amoniel would have had information about the ring. Her thoughts returned to the piece of jewelry with a vengeance, and she squeezed the corner of her cloak tightly. She still wanted the ring. Despite her guilt, despite how things turned out, despite Miriel’s injuries, she still desired it. She was beginning to wonder how expensive this ring really was, for her to want it so badly. She fidgeted, rubbing her fingers where a ring would sit. She wondered how shiny it was. She wondered how the cool metal would feel resting on her skin, slowly being warmed by her hands. She was lost in such daydreams until Miriel finally moved again.

Regaining hold over herself, Miriel eventually pushed herself over into the corner of the cell and rested her back up against the dirty wall. The little rocks and uneven parts cruelly reminded her of the guard’s heavy fist, but she was too tired to change her position. Moving was a struggle for her worn body. Pain coursed through her ankle, her head, the bruises from the orcs’ blows. And she felt absolutely exhausted, more than she had ever thought was possible. The past week’s exertion seemed to hit her all at once.

The cell was small, but there was room for the two of them to sit somewhat comfortably. The floor was made of cold stone and a little dirt, the walls and ceiling the same. The prison was not lit, other than a sickly looking lantern in the passageway, and it was difficult to see. The dim light barely illuminated the prison guard, and his back was turned, anyway.

Miriel looked all around, checking for guards watching, then reached deep into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a small leather satchel. Amoniel, who had stopped twisting an imaginary ring on her finger and had been staring at Miriel with quiet concern, now raised her eyebrows and leaned forward.

“How did you keep that from them?” Her voice, although barely audible, still sounded like a shout in the cell. “How did you keep that from _me_?”

“Hush.” Miriel silently opened the bag, and pulled out a small sack. When she opened it, a sweet scent gently filled the area they sat in, clearing the elves’ minds instantly. Miriel sighed. She needed some water to make the most of this remedy. Thinking, she sat in silence—and her ears picked up a sound. Water dripping, and close. Miriel felt along the floor near her with fingers, and soon they touched a cold flow of water. It probably issued from some underground stream and was most likely filthy, but that was better than nothing.

Miriel took a small handful of the sweet-smelling herb out of the bag, closed it, and set it aside. She bit her lip hard as she slipped the leather shoe off her foot. Amoniel reached her hands out to help, but pulled them back uncertainly. She twisted her fingers together, resigned to watch, unless Miriel asked for help. Miriel collected some of the cool water in her palm and mixed it with the herb, creating a sweet-smelling paste that she spread over her ankle. It was swollen and bruised, but the paste slowly covered the purple skin.

_How did it go, again?_ The small elf reached into the back of her mind for the right words to say. She had learned a bit of healing, but that was around a century ago. Normally, in all her unsuccessful escapades, her father had managed to locate her and get her to a real healer if necessary. Not this time. Miriel thought a moment longer as the rest came into her head, and then she spoke.

Amoniel couldn't help but be entranced by the other elf's words. They were in a language that seemed like some sort of elvish, but she couldn't understand them. Miriel's voice was soft and low, but clear as a bell. The incantation seemed songlike, certain phrases repeating, the pitch of her voice rising and falling slightly. For a few moments, Amoniel felt that she was not stuck in a cell, but in a bright place filled with fair things.

The pain had already receded some as she finished. Miriel's head felt clearer, and her numerous bruises were soothed. Amoniel, too, felt as though her aching feet hurt less, and some of her exhaustion had disappeared. Silently, Miriel tore off several strips of cloth from the bottom of her tunic, and used them as a rough bandage for her ankle. She put her shoe on again and replaced the bag inside her clothes, feeling a lot better. Slowly, she raised herself to a standing position. It was still painful, and she knew she hadn't repaired the joint, but it would be much more bearable now. She limped around in a circle and then sat down. Amoniel’s eyes were wide, and a slight smile crossed her face as her fingers absentmindedly brushed the pocket knife in her cloak. Maybe they would be all right, after all. They were on the mend.

* * *

Although the elves tried to keep track of how many days had passed, in the cave, it was difficult. The only light they ever saw came from the occasional rough torch, carrying by the guard changing out. That was all that ever happened, too. Every few hours, another orc would tramp down into the passage and grunt at the one sitting in front of the cell. They would then switch places, and the relieved orc would tramp back down the passage to who knows where. Once a day, or so it felt, the cell door would creak open, and Miriel and Amoniel would receive the same stale bread, leathery meat, and gritty water they had on the journey. Miriel wouldn’t eat the meat, and Amoniel would hide it for later. Rinse, repeat. Needless to say, they were both bored out of their minds.

Miriel’s thoughts dwelt mostly on her father. She wondered if he was angry. After all, she had disobeyed him by going into the dark parts of the forest. But, no, probably not. He was so rarely angry with her. She thought he would mostly be distraught. For all he knew, she could have died, alone and horribly in the forest. Yet again, the orcs had probably informed the elves of their plan by now. Would they take the trouble to send anyone to find her? She knew Berion would come alone, if he had to. She was also feeling closed in in the caves, and the walls seemed smaller every hour. She consistently pushed this away as best she could, hoping it would stay in the depths of her mind, but her hands shook slightly whenever her claustrophobic thoughts returned. She looked for plans of escape in the walls until the thought of the cave’s ceiling collapsing forced her mind away again.

Amoniel continued still to be tortured by her guilt and desire. Even when she slept, images of Miriel falling far distances and being hit by the orcs mingled with those of a bright golden ring. She hoped that someone would come for Miriel, and knowing Berion's authority, it seemed likely. Amoniel also hoped she would be able to escape with and from those who came for Miriel, without being captured and tried for treason by the elves. Every day, though, rescue seemed less and less likely. She felt her strength beginning to depart, as hunger and thirst gnawed at her in the dark. Silence was safety, but she knew, soon, they would have to leave the cave, and that would require forming some sort of plan. Miriel could walk again, and their strength could only decrease from there. Now was the optimal time. Still, she kept her peace.

After the fourth time the elves had been fed, Miriel broke the long held silence. “You said you have secret pockets, yes?”

“Yes.” Amoniel was almost surprised that Miriel had remembered about the pockets.

“What do you have in them?”

“I told you, just daisies. And they were lost in the river.” She wondered why she was still lying, to Miriel and to herself. The time to escape was now. Her hands shook.

Miriel sighed. “I am not as stupid as you seem to believe, Amoniel. You are clearly a skilled thief, and that means that surely your pockets are not empty. Besides, if you have anything that could be of use, it would be in your best interest to mention it. We are clearly not going to be rescued anytime soon.”

Miriel was right. It was time. “I do have a small knife. It is very rusty and dull, though. And”―she hesitated slightly―”I have some supplies that I use for lock picking.”

The smaller elleth groaned slightly. She had lock picking tools, and hadn’t said anything about it until now? “Well, it seems like we have a way to get out of this place.” Miriel motioned for Amoniel to tilt her head closer, and after a moment of thought, she lowered her voice even farther and began to outline a rough plan.

 

The monotony continued, but, now, the two elves had more to think about. Every spare second was spent examining each corner of their prison, memorizing the routine of the changing of the guard, collecting as much food as they could hold between the two of them. Miriel spent hours with her ear pressed up against the floor, listening for the sounds of the orcs tramping through passages. She was getting a rough idea of where the major halls were, and they discussed that quietly, deciding to avoid them as much as possible. Neither of them wanted to think a whole lot about how they would go about actually leaving the mountain. It was only two unarmed elves against several companies of orcs that knew the caves.

Miriel’s anger towards Amoniel had mostly vanished. After all, she wasn’t an entirely unpleasant person. She had managed to make Miriel laugh a couple times. In any other circumstances, they might have become friends. _Why can’t you still become friends?_ Miriel’s mind spoke often.

_She gave you to the orcs._ Came the reply.

_She was blinded by greed, greed for the ring. Isn’t that what the stories say? Hasn’t she made up for it by now?_ Miriel suddenly felt guilty. She had treated the other elf very poorly in her anger. And she really had done a lot. If Amoniel had been unwilling to carry her, would that orcs have bothered to? How many times had Amoniel distracted them from beating her?

Amoniel spoke up as Miriel was going over and over her thoughts quietly. “I have something for you.”

Miriel came and sat next to her, away from the guard at the door. “What is it?” she responded in a low voice.

Amoniel looked around conspicuously and made a great show of pulling a fresh flower from her pocket. The edges were only a bit browned. “I felt bad you lost your other one in the river.”

“How did you get this?!” Miriel was in awe, and Amoniel made hushing motions with her hands. Miriel took the flower gently, examined it, and placed it in her hair.

“It blew into me just before we entered the cave. I’ve been keeping it wet with some of the puddle water in here. It’s a resilient flower, though surviving for so long in here is no small feat.” Amoniel was beaming.

“Thank you.” She hugged Amoniel, drawing the eye of the orc guard. He grunted and looked back down the corridor, uncaring. _Maybe I could use a friend in here._ “And… Amoniel?”

“Yes?” Miriel’s use of her name caught Amoniel off guard, as did the hug.

“I’m sorry… for how I have been treating you.”

“And I am truly sorry for… for all of this.” Amoniel sighed. “Are we even now?”  
“We are.” Even in the dark, Amoniel perceived a small smile on Miriel’s face.

 

Miriel and Amoniel were asleep when a particularly gruff orc forced the cell door open. He gave each of them a rough kick before tossing them the same skimpy rations as always. Amoniel and Miriel made eye contact as their guard slammed the cell shut and plopped down outside of it. It was time.

Miriel went over the plan again, in her head. Amoniel would use her tools to unlock the door and then kill the guard. Miriel would watch and act as backup if someone else came. They would then leave as silently as possible out of the mountain. It was simple. Maybe too simple, considering they didn’t know the way out, but it was the only option.

“Are you ready?” she asked Amoniel, almost inaudibly. Amoniel nodded. She went through her lock picking tools again, feeling them, counting them. She checked that her pocket knife was secure in her sleeve, with only a slight tremor in her hands. The lock picking came first, however, and she was practiced in this art.

Miriel was shocked at how quickly and silently Amoniel opened the door. Her skills as a thief had been perfected with the practice of many years. Once the lock clicked open, they both held their breath. Amoniel had spent the last good few minutes spitting on the hinges, but the guard had seemed either not to notice or care. She gently nudged the door open, millimeters at a time. Luckily, it didn’t creak.

Amoniel crept out, knife in hand. It was time. Time to kill. She froze behind the oblivious guard. The small knife was pointed at him,  but it was shaking, and Amoniel was breathing quickly.

_Don't think about the blood, don't think, oh no, the blood, I can't do it…_ Amoniel looked down at the tiny knife in her hand. There was no way to do this job without a mess. _Just DO IT,_ she begged her shaking hands. They did not respond. She was frozen.

Miriel was frozen, watching Amoniel with bated breath. _Why isn’t she doing it?_ Her gaze followed Amoniel’s, to the shaking knife held in unsteady hands. Miriel realized what held her friend back. She was scared of the blood, scared to kill an orc. Miriel stood and silently walked closer. She took the small knife from Amoniel, nodded, and did the job herself. Amoniel looked away shakily. The orc hadn’t even had time to scream.

Miriel hid the dead guards fatal wound and propped him back up. At a glance, it looked like he was still alert. She offered the knife back to Amoniel, who refused to touch the bloody thing, so Miriel rubbed most of the blood off and pocketed it. Amoniel would accept it back, later, once it was free of even a speck of red rust. The two elves now stole silently down the tunnel. There was no one in sight; a perfect escape.

Before they had gotten far, however, the sounds of the dark tongue greeted their ears. Orcs, and not far off. Unsure what else to do, Miriel and Amoniel made a run for it. Fortunately, their worn elvish shoes made no sound on the cold stone floor. Unfortunately, Miriel was only able to run a few yards before bending over double in pain. The voices, although they had not yet noticed the elves, were nonetheless getting closer.

Miriel went to rest her hand against the wall, and feeling nothing, stumbled sideways. There seemed to be a tiny crack in the wall, and behind it, the cool draft of a tunnel. Without second thought, the two elves crammed themselves into the crack, just before a group of smelly orcs tramped by. Miraculously, they still hadn't been noticed.

Now they were faced with a choice. Should they go back to the main passage, or continue down the smaller one? While Amoniel was still considering this, Miriel pushed past her, back to the main corridor. She seemed to be breathing especially hard. To Amoniel’s surprise, however, there were still orcs moving down the passage. Frantically she jerked Miriel back into the crevice as another set of orcs passed by their little hiding place. They would have to go down this small tunnel. The main one was too dangerous.

Miriel was struggling against Amoniel, beginning to make more noise than Amoniel thought was appropriate for their situation. The orcs could hear at any second! This was getting to be childish. She released Miriel, who flung herself back into the larger part of the tunnel. The orcs were barely gone, so Amoniel shrugged and observed the small passage in more depth.

Nearly hitting her head, Amoniel took a few steps down the tiny walkway. Was it even really a tunnel? It was very narrow. Strange. It seemed solid, so she continued. Miriel, on the other hand, remained still in the passage. _Her ankle must be bothering her,_ Amoniel thought, and turned around to help her. But she wasn’t favoring her ankle; Miriel’s back was pressed up against the wall of the cave. She was breathing hard, and her whole body was shaking. It was hard to tell for sure in the lighting, but it seemed that her deep blue eyes were as open as wide as they would go. She wasn’t in pain. She was _terrified._

“Miriel, are you okay?” Amoniel whispered, concerned.

“I. Don’t. Like. Tunnels.” Miriel sounded like she was being choked. Amoniel, unsure what else to do, grabbed her friend’s arm and led her slowly forward down the small passage. Miriel’s cold fingers gripped her shoulder like a vice, but she stumbled along behind.

“Then let’s get out of them.” Amoniel tried to be cheery, to help Miriel. Miriel just breathed faster.

_For someone so small and young, she’s strong,_ Amoniel thought, leading her friend further. _She must have been dealing with this since we arrived… At least this passage way appears to be widening._

Miriel felt like she was suffocating. Wherever she looked, walls. Whenever she put her hand out, even only a few inches away from her body, walls. She could feel the walls around her, pressing her in, taking away her precious air. She could feel the thousands of tons of rock above her. It felt like it was sitting directly on her chest. She wanted to scream, but Amoniel kept mercilessly pulling her through this nightmare world. Sharp pains shooting through Miriel’s ankle from treading on a loose stone brought her back to reality for a second. There certainly didn’t seem to be any orcs around, at least, but that could mean they were heading the wrong way.

It seemed like they had been walking for years. Amoniel couldn’t really see where she was going, so she just continued to go through whatever tunnel was available. Navigating this deep cave was significantly different from navigating through Thranduil’s palace or through the forest, and Amoniel was quickly getting them lost. Finally, she dragged Miriel into a somewhat larger cavern, and stopped. It seemed sickeningly familiar. Miriel dropped to the ground and clung to it, with a small whimper of sheer terror. After a couple of minutes, she collected herself enough to sit up and glance around stiffly.

“We’ve been wandering around in circles, haven’t we?” Miriel had just voiced Amoniel’s very concern.

“Uh…” Well, she couldn’t deny it. “Yes, most likely.”

Miriel bit her lip almost to the point of drawing blood to avoid a scream. She tried to push the thoughts of wandering down here until they died of starvation out of her mind. There had to be a way out, there had to be. Surely there was.

Amoniel studied Miriel’s pale face carefully. “It will be ok, you know. Even if we don’t make it out today, there is food around. We can steal it from the orcs, if we must. I still have some dried meat in my cloak. And gritty cave water really isn’t that bad. We will find the way out, sooner or later.”

“It’s not that… We’re trapped in here. The cave is gonna fall in, and then we won’t be able to move, and then we’ll die slowly, over a period of days―” She was breathing so quickly she could barely speak.

“Miriel! Miriel, calm down. The cave isn’t coming down. The orcs have been here for years; surely it's safe by now.” Amoniel kneeled down and tugged Miriel into her arms. “We’re fine; we’re safe; we’re fine. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.” Miriel didn’t move, just continued to chug air as if the more air she took in now, the longer she would live. Amoniel frowned and sat back on her heels. “Miriel. You need to breathe normally, all right? Do it with me. In for four, hold for two, out for six.”

Amoniel counted the beats on her fingers as they breathed until Miriel had calmed down enough to speak again. When she could, she gasped out, “Tell me a story.”

“Oh? Um, all right, what about?”

“Tell me about your family.”

“My family…” Amoniel looked off to the side. Miriel’s breathing sped up a little again. “Okay! Keep counting your breaths. I’ll tell you. It is not a very fun story, though.”

Miriel looked expectantly at Amoniel, who sighed.

“All right.” Amoniel paused, wondering if she should finally tell Miriel who her family really was. She glanced at Miriel’s panic-stricken eyes and decided now was not the time. “I was born to an elf lord, like you.” Seeing the question forming in Miriel’S eyes, she preemptively stopped Miriel from wasting the little breath she was holding. “Please don’t interrupt. I have not told anyone this story before, and I… I do not wish to answer questions about it. You don’t have the breath to speak, anyway.”

“You do not… have to… tell me…” Miriel said between breaths, although she was clearly now hooked.

Amoniel waved this away. “It’s fine. I just need to collect my thoughts… All right. I was born to an elf lord, years before you. You know I am a thief now, but you don’t know that I have always been one. Like a magpie, I stole any shiny object I could get my hands on.” A bittersweet smile rested on Amoniel’s face. “I have since learned a little restraint, and a little more care.”

Miriel nodded a little like she was listening, but her eyes were glazed over, staring straight ahead at the cave wall. Amoniel noticed she was breathing a little easier. Good.

“I have never been able to stop myself from doing so, but, when I was a kid, my parents assumed I was doing it on purpose. They scolded me when I came home with my pockets full of fool’s gold. They scolded me the first time I stole a ring, and the elleth I stole it from was not terribly happy, either. They continued to get angry at me for years and years, never realizing I couldn’t stop myself. When they found my hidden stash of treasures, they made me return them all back to their owners and apologize to every individual I had taken something from. I was never so embarrassed in my life.” Amoniel realized how bitter she was getting, and she worried that her tone would jostle Miriel’s into a state of panic again. She shook her head a little, and started again. “They were loving parents, otherwise. My mother was as radiant as the sun, and she and father never got angry at each other. It seemed I was the only source of displeasure in the house.”

“Not your fault…” Miriel said, dreamily.

Amoniel hoped Miriel would return from whatever oxygen-induced ride her brain seemed to be taking. They needed to start moving again, and this glazed-over Miriel was worrying her. For now, though, she felt a sense of urgency inside her to finish her tale. As of yet, she had only confided in one other person, and he was too far away to matter right now. She had had precious few people listen to her in her life. Even if Miriel was entirely in her own dream world, Amoniel needed to say this. She continued. “Maybe so, but it never felt that way. For years they told me that if I did not stop, they would turn me out of the house. I suppose I never really believed them, but the words still stung nonetheless. The things I stole became more and more valuable. They became less worried for me and more angry at me, but I was young and dumb, so I kept at it. I stole something, a necklace, I believe, from someone important. That’s when the threats from the other elves really began. Not only were my parents threatening to kick me out, but they suddenly had the community’s support. The King himself took an interest. Exiling any elf is not something to be done lightly, but it was being called for.”

Miriel cocked her head. Her breathing had resumed a more normal course, and Amoniel thought she looked a little better than before. Some color had returned to Miriel’s pale face. She wondered if Miriel was really listening, or just hearing the cadence of her speech. Didn’t matter much, either way.

“Then, my parents had another baby. He was wonderful. For a while, I didn’t feel the urge to take big things. I still stole a few things here and there, but only enough to keep my skills sharp. I was as subtle as I could be. My baby brother was everything. But I couldn’t stop myself completely. I should have known how it would end.

“One day my parents and I had the biggest argument yet. It didn’t start that way, but I blew things out of proportion. I was sick of it, sick of trying to stop, sick of myself for taking things. I was pretty good at it by then, and I both didn't want to stop and hated myself for feeling that way. So I left. I intended to return, but first, I wanted to steal something big enough to make my parents really mad. I don’t know why. I should have known how it would end!” Amoniel hit the floor with her fist, startling herself. She glanced at Miriel. Miriel’s eyes met hers for a second, then returned to the same spot on the cave wall. Amoniel pushed her hand through her tangled hair, huffing out a breath of air. She breathed as deeply as Miriel for a few seconds and calmed down.

“I am not proud of how this story ends, just so you know. But, at the same time, I have never been so bold, so audacious, as I was that day.” Amoniel began to scratch at the cave floor, carving random lines in the ground with her fingernails. Miriel absentmindedly pulled Amoniel's pocket knife out of her pocket and began cleaning the blood off systematically. “I ended up walking to the King’s palace. I didn’t have a plan. But when I arrived, for some reason, I got lucky. Incredibly so. I saw no guards, and I climbed right into a window. I wandered around, avoiding the few people I saw. Eventually, I found a door that was locked. I had tried picking locks, but I wasn’t terribly good at it. I didn’t have any tools. When I examined the lock closer, I realized it wasn’t completely closed. I was shocked. This was my chance, so long as I didn’t walk in on the King himself. When I went in, the room was empty. Inside was the King’s collection of jewels. _Incredibly_ lucky. I stole… more than one. I just shoved them in my pockets and ran. I made it all the way back to the window. As I climbed out and began running, a guard finally saw me. I just took off, and did not look back. The King was notified, I presume, but I was already home.

“When I got back, I dumped my jewels on the table and went to my room to start packing. On the way there, I slipped into my brother’s room and stole a baby picture of him. I still have it.” Amoniel clutched her heart, and Miriel presumed the picture was hidden inside her shirt. Secret pockets, indeed. She would have to ask Amoniel to show her, when she felt better. “Then, I went into my own room and threw as much as I could into the bag I was carrying when we…” Amoniel stopped scratching the ground for a second. “When we met,” she finished. She recalled losing her bag and quickly swiped her hands over her eyes. “I’ve had it for a long time. It was my father’s. He let me have it that day.

“My parents heard me enter the house, and they saw the jewels on the kitchen table before they came to find me. They were angry, but they were also scared. They reprimanded me. They told me it would be okay, but they also helped me pack. I think all of us knew what was going to happen to me, but none of us wanted to believe it.

“The King arrived soon after I finished throwing all my important things in the bag. My parents ushered me to the kitchen, where they gave me food and water and a little money. They also pushed the jewels back into my hands. The King’s guard only had to knock once before they let him in. Ti―My brother began to cry, and my mother went into the back room to soothe him. I don’t like to recall it; it was an uncomfortable situation. Needless to say, they cast me out. My own family. My own King. My own fault. And I still can’t control it. These damn hands!” Amoniel cast her hands in the air helplessly. Miriel blinked a few times and looked over at Amoniel. “Sorry. Are you ready to start walking again?”

“I think so.”

Amoniel helped Miriel to her feet. Miriel handed the pocket knife back to her, giving Amoniel an idea. “I think, if I use my pocket knife, I can carve arrows into the ceiling. That way we stop going down the same passages twice. We’ll find the way out much faster, that way.”

“Let’s just get out of here as fast as we can, please.”

Amoniel stood up, and dragged Miriel with her. She strained her eyes, looking all around the dark cavern. There seemed to be three passages opening from it. One they had just come from. She marked a rough arrow on that one with her knife, and stepped into the one next to it. Miriel shuddered and gripped her shoulder again tightly.

The next few hours were an endless nightmare to Miriel. She could barely drag herself forwards after Amoniel, through tunnel after tunnel. She still saw them passing under archways with arrows carved above them, but they were less frequent as they finally discovered a new path. Finally, the pathway grew ever so slightly lighter.

“I think we’re almost out!” Amoniel sounded breathless. Miriel forced herself to keep walking. The light continued to grow, until at last they found the final passage that opened into― finally―the outdoors. Miriel pushed past Amoniel and stumbled out of the cave, into the sunlight, where she collapsed on her face, breathing heavily.

Amoniel let her friend rest a moment before tapping her shoulder and extending a hand. They could not afford to stay here long. Although they had timed their escape right after a guard change, someone could still discover their disappearance now.

As Miriel rose, she looked up at the sky, feeling the sun on her face. It was almost overwhelmingly bright, and she had missed that blinding light. Both elves were glad it was day, as the orcs seldom emerged from their caves in the light. They would be able to get away without worrying about being caught. In addition, the sunny day seemed to drive away the chill of the past few weeks and bring some level of optimistic bounce to the elves’ steps. Longer, hotter days were coming, and they were free to enjoy them, so long as they left, now.

Miriel and Amoniel put the hoods of their cloaks over their heads. Each had a brief moment of panic as they went to automatically put their bags on and realized they weren’t there. Miriel sighed slightly and adjusted the brooch on her cloak at the same time that Amoniel briefly brushed the picture of her brother in her pocket. What little they had left would have to do. They began to walk briskly away from the crack in the side of the mountain. There were still several hills before them, but the plain beyond was clearly visible, to their relief. Without a word having been spoken since they left the cave, they companionably headed towards the plain. The sun worked its way steadily towards the west as they headed east, eventually being engulfed by the mountains’ jagged shadows.


	5. Chapter 5

Miriel bit her lip to cut off a cry as her injured ankle gave away again, this time causing her to slide back down the hill she had just climbed and fall, sprawling, on the ground below. She lay there a moment, collecting herself, allowing her head to clear. Amoniel ran back down the hill to her. She was doubting their plan to simply get as far away as possible, now. This poor elleth could hardly stay on her feet; it would practically be torture to make her continue like this. It could be better to simply try and hide.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she confided to Miriel, helping her sit up. “Are you all right? Maybe we should rest here.”

“I am fine.” There was determination in Miriel’s voice. She struggled slowly back onto her feet. “We cannot stop here. It’s much too close to the mountains; they’ll find us right away when night falls. My ankle is going to be fine,” she added, correctly reading Amoniel’s doubting expression.

“Is it, though?”

“Yes, it is.” Miriel sounded almost frustrated. She started limping forwards once again, back up the hill.

“You really ought to have a healer look at it,” Amoniel blurted out stubbornly, without a whole lot of thought. “You shouldn’t be walking again. A broken ankle is a big deal.”

“Well, let’s stop and find a healer then. Carry me.” Miriel’s voice was full of sarcasm.

“I know there isn’t a healer here. I am just making a point. You could do permanent damage by walking, or falling, on it.”

Miriel sighed. “That would be better than being dead,” she pointed out, forcing herself forwards. There were not many hours of daylight left. They absolutely had to keep going.

“I would carry you, you know. You’re not that heavy.” Amoniel slowly followed Miriel up the hill, watching to make sure she didn’t fall again.

Miriel didn’t say anything in response, choosing not to dignify the offer. They crested the hill, and Amoniel bounced alongside Miriel.

“I carried you when we met in Mirkwood.”

“And then you gave me to the orcs, who forced me to walk until I was delirious.”

Amoniel’s bouncing subsided. “And I am sorry about that. It was not as necessary as I had convinced myself it would be. A thief’s life is not kind, Miriel. I did not live in comfort my whole life, enjoying the luxuries of being an elf lord’s daughter. But I’m telling you, I will carry you now, and repay the debt. We might make better time if I do.”

“Amoniel. Stop talking.” Miriel was steaming at Amoniel’s words. Sure, she was sorry. Amoniel was sorry she had gotten herself exiled! But Miriel bit these words back. She was just tired and hurting. There was no need to make Amoniel emotional. They needed to at least stick together for now, until it was safe.

Amoniel’s fingers suddenly twitched. She blinked and cast her eyes around for whatever her brain had registered as valuable. She looked at Miriel. Yes, closer. Miriel’s brooch suddenly winked in the sun, and Amoniel’s fingers clenched briefly. That was it. She wanted to steal it. She recalled getting this urge before, but she had already repressed it. She tried to repress it a second time. Miriel wouldn’t even notice, if she just fastened Miriel’s cloak with something else as she stole it. She watched the brooch catch the light. It was quite beautiful. It was a wonder the orcs hadn’t taken it. But she could take it… now…

Amoniel made to feel the items inside her bag, and, with a jolt, again remembered it was gone. She scratched her fingers against the rough wool of her cloak and pushed her thoughts aside. Of course she couldn’t steal the brooch. Miriel noticed her scratching her fingers, and she shoved them inside her cloak pockets. Of course she couldn’t…

 

By evening, the two elves had made it far away from the awful mountain hideout, and had managed to stay out of sight of orcs passing through. They had long since left the foothills, and were now out on the plain beyond the mountain range. Mirkwood, unfortunately, was out of sight, and, for the most part, out of mind. Miriel and Amoniel thought only of rest, food, and resting their feet. Just as the moon rose, they took cover next to a thick, stubby bush for the night. They spoke little, both tired from the long walk and days without real food. Amoniel pulled some of the orcs meat out of some hidden pocket, while Miriel nibbled a bit more off a tiny wafer of bread out of her bag. Their stomachs still growled. They lay down to sleep, too exhausted to do anything more.

Miriel awoke some time later. She felt… Apprehensive. She sat up silently and glanced around. The plains around them were lit softly by the moonlight, and there was no wind. Everything was entirely still. Too still. The feeling of apprehensiveness suddenly turned to panic, and raw fear. Eyes wide, Miriel stared up at the sky. An enormous winged shape was gliding directly overhead. For a second, the hideous shape obtruded the moonlight and the whole landscape grew dark under its shadow. Something gave a horrible shrill cry, and Miriel covered her head and plastered herself to the ground, shaking. Somehow, Amoniel was still asleep, but she was stirring uneasily. Miriel watched as the dark creature continued its flight southward, and the fear slowly passed.

It was quickly replaced with a thousand questions. There was no doubt in Miriel's mind that the thing was a servant of the Enemy. But what had it been doing? Was it a spy? An herald perhaps, announcing the approach of war? Maybe the cry was a command to some fell army to attack. Miriel shuddered and forced her mind to think of something else. It wasn’t as if there was anything she could do about it. Despite her efforts, the memory of what she had seen remained with her the rest of the night.

 

The next morning, both girls awoke with the rising of the sun. They sat up, stretching, almost surprised to find themselves still alive.

“Well, we made it.” Amoniel looked around the plain, which was full of morning fog. They would be hidden, while it lasted.

“We did.” _For now,_ Miriel added in her mind. Surely the orcs knew they were gone by now. They would no doubt send out a search, and when they found them… “But we need to keep moving.”

“We do.” Amoniel pulled a piece of the orcs’ food out of some pocket in her cloak and chewed on it thoughtfully. Miriel did the same with some small morsel of bread from her satchel. They watched the sun burn away at the mist.

“So, what now?” Miriel asked Amoniel, finally voicing the question that had been hanging in both their minds since they awoke. Amoniel's thoughts immediately went in a direction they frequently had, even during the torture of the past week. She wanted the ring, now more than ever. She could almost feel its presence, pulling her.

“I want to keep looking for that ring. I think it’s going to be valuable, and I want to have it before those orcs get it. I’m going to keep searching.”

At the mention of the ring, Miriel remembered again the dream she had, several days before. Isildur's Bane. “Amoniel, I don't think it’s wise to continue looking for this ring. It's…” What word could even describe it? “Dangerous.”

Miriel's words annoyed Amoniel. She had heard this type of talk many times, growing up, telling her not to take something. It was a piece of jewelry. How could it possibly be dangerous? “Thanks. But I want to find it.” She stood up, feeling drawn southeast, and started walking immediately. Miriel sighed and followed, trying to get in front of her.

“Amoniel, listen to me. This ring is _bad._ You do not want to take it lightly. Look what it brought you already! Nothing but trouble.”

“It doesn't matter! The money it will no doubt bring in will be worth it all.” Amoniel’s voice was distant and full of need. Her mind was filled with images of the bright ring, herself holding it, surrounded by wealth.

“Amoniel! Snap out of it!” Miriel's voice cut through her friends dreams. She turned to her, irritated. “This ring is evil.” She suddenly grabbed her shoulders, and her piercing eyes stared upwards, past Amoniel’s darker ones, right into her thoughts. “It is Isildur's Bane! Don't you see! Don't you remember the old stories? Think about what it has already done to you! You cannot pursue it further!”

“Stop!” Amoniel violently pushed Miriel aside in anger. At the words _Isildur’s Bane_ , a shadow seemed to pass across the sun, and she felt very uncomfortable. But it was not the other elleth’s place to say those things. “If you do not want to follow, then don’t! You may be able to order other elves around, you don’t have the authority to tell me what to do!” She ignored the shocked and slightly hurt look on her friend’s face and started walking quickly. She tried to push the guilt, and the voice that told her that Miriel was right. The voice that said the desire for the ring was more than just her own petty desire.

“Wait.” Miriel sighed in frustration. Amoniel turned around, heeding the voice of reason. Again, she seemed to feel Miriel’s eyes boring into her thoughts. “I will not follow you to… that terrible place, for that is where you will undoubtedly end up. But I will travel with you as far as Lothlorien. My mother’s family lives there still. I―I am going to stay with them.” _That way I will not have to worry about any marriage,_ she added silently.

“All right.” Amoniel stopped, and waited as Miriel limped over to her. _You made a promise to take her home. If this is what she wants, you must take her. How could you entertain the thought of leaving her behind?_

“Do you know where you’re going?”

“Well…” Amoniel glanced ahead, towards the dark clouds gathered far in the distance. Was she really going to end up there? Was there where the ring was? “No, not exactly, I don’t.”

Miriel thought a moment. “We should make our way back to the river. We can follow it to Lorien. From there, you’re on your own.” Amoniel nodded slightly in compliance, and they began making their way towards the green strip that marked the Anduin.

 

The day went quickly, as the ever present knowledge of the pursuing orcs kept them moving briskly. Even so, the banks of the river were still far away when they finally decided to stop for the night. There had been a good amount of dispute about this. Miriel had wanted to keep walking, to get as far away from the orcs as they possibly could, but Amoniel had insisted that they rest. She knew Miriel’s ankle hurt much more than she would ever admit, and she would feel terrible if Miriel made the injury worse by straining herself. She made the argument that the orcs couldn’t possibly cover as much ground as a couple of elves with nothing to carry, even though Miriel had to walk slower because of her ankle. The orcs would also have a lot of ground to cover, while the elves could travel in a straight line. At the first sign that Miriel agreed, Amoniel quickly looked for a place to hide for the night. The pair ended up taking shelter in a natural ditch that ran across the plain for a mile or two. They hoped the orcs would not pass this way, and, if they did, they hoped they would stay hidden.

Miriel took another tiny piece from her stash of bread in her satchel, while Amoniel gnawed on one of Miriel’s uneaten bits of meat ration from the orcs. Miriel leaned back against one side of the grassy side of the ditch, stretching her injured leg up and leaning it against the other side. It was beginning to be a bit warmer, and the elves’ cloaks held out the bite of the cold wind more than they had on their journey to the mountains. Amoniel began to daydream, watching the last rays of the sun slowly fade out. She slipped easily into the dream that Tirrion was still alive, that he was more than just a pleasant memory, he was out there, and she could see him again.  It was something she had thought of often enough. She could picture it now… Going back to Mirkwood, waltzing up to her parent’s house, and asking if Tirrion was still around… Although ridiculous, she could see herself taking Miriel to Lothlorien, finally finding this ring that had been making her fingers twitch so, and going home to be greeted by her brother. A slight smile crossed her face. Of course, if she was headed that way, she should go visit Avaron first… He would probably talk her out of it. Exile is not something one can simply ignore; he had told her a variation on this theme many times. But it was a nice idea…

Miriel’s voice suddenly jerked Amoniel out of her thoughts.

“Have you ever seen Lothlorien?”

“Hmm? No, I haven’t. I have heard that it is beautiful, though.”

“It truly is.” A tiny shadow of a smile twitched on Miriel’s lips. She thought of the golden trees, the silver lanterns, the endless singing. It felt safe, safer than Mirkwood. The power of the Lady Galadriel seemed to be able to keep out the shadow that had crept into the forest of her birth. Miriel wondered what her family would think when she came, with a twinge of guilt. She pushed it away. “Well, I am sure you will like it, if you do get to see it.”

“There's one thing that’s been bothering me about this, Miriel. You clearly love your father, he loves you, and you seem to have, well, an amazing life. To be perfectly honest with you, I'm jealous. You have everything I ever wanted. So why are you running away?” Amoniel looked at Miriel frankly, who sighed deeply.

“My father, Berion, you know.” Amoniel nodded. She knew. “He's always in counsel meetings with the King. Especially since…  _He_ came to power, and the war started. My father's always asking me to attend them, to gain experience, but I just can't stand meetings like those. It's all dull speeches, conversations that drag on for ages. I know it's important, but little gets done. Why speak for hours when you can just act?” She shook her head and fiddled with the edges of her torn cloak. She rarely avoided eye contact with the one she was speaking to, but at this time she could only stare at her fingers. “He doesn't understand me in the least…”

Amoniel was a little surprised to hear Miriel say that. It was obvious she was close to her father, and a close relationship usually didn't allow for a lack of understanding. In addition, Amoniel got the feeling that she wasn't getting some other important detail. She thought Miriel still had more to say, but was refusing to say it, or couldn't find the words. She was holding back, that was certain. Amoniel wondered if Miriel was waiting for a push to continue, and asked the most obvious question first. “What makes you say he doesn't understand you?”

Amoniel knew it had worked, for the moon suddenly gleamed bright in Miriel's downcast eyes, and something in her expression changed. She glared silently into the cool light for a long time before continuing, deep in thought. Amoniel waited patiently. Miriel’s eyes rose but didn't quite reach Amoniel’s.

“The Lord Tunnor has a son. We grew up together. We were close friends, but now my father wants us to marry. It's scheduled to happen as soon as this war ends.” She frowned deeply, still lost in her own thoughts. They must have been dark, for Miriel then burst with emotion. “He never once consulted me about what I want in this matter! It's as if he was passing me along as some sort of bargain. I can’t refuse, though! It would crush him.”

Amoniel froze. Lord tunnor was her father’s name. There could be another Lord Tunnor, although she had remembered Berion living somewhat near her own family in their childhood. But she had never even considered… Surely her daydream of Tirrion was just that, a fantasy, nothing more. She had just been thinking of him, and that’s why she was jumping to these conclusions. She tried to process the rest of what Miriel had said and come up with a suitable response. “And who is this ellon?” She barely held herself back from adding, “And how is he?”

“His name is Tirrion. As I've said, we were close childhood friends. We may be bonded forever in this, our friendship, but I do not want to marry him!” Miriel's voice rose in intensity, but not volume.

Amoniel spaced out for most of the rest of Miriel’s speech when she heard the elf's name. She was flushed and shaken. It seemed impossible, and yet here she had just heard it. How many Tirrions whose father’s name is Tunnor could there possibly be? This elleth was going to marry… She brushed the thought away quickly. “He's not good enough to marry you?” Was he as much of a disappointment to her parents as she?

Miriel thought about Tirrion, his image building in her head rapidly. He was a cheerful ellon, and she pictured his freckled face captured mid-laugh. He was tall and strong, with soft dark hair, those grey eyes… Angrily she wiped his face out of her mind. “It is not that; he's a fine elf. Any elleth would be lucky to have him. I, personally, just do not want to marry him.” Nothing would ever convince her to give up her freedom unless she relinquished it herself. And she _wasn’t_ attracted to him, no, not a bit. She looked into Amoniel’s face to see how she was reacting. She looked as if she was suddenly going into throw up. “Are you all right? You look pale.”

“I-I’m fine.” Amoniel seemed uncomfortable, and shifted the subject. “He's probably a good deal older than you, is he not?” Miriel could not be any older than 75, she was so small.

Miriel took a closer look at Amoniel’s face, examining every corner of it. She couldn't help noticing that Amoniel seemed to know Tirrion’s age. Had she known Tirrion? Amoniel hadn't mentioned anything about him, yet, but she was asking a lot of questions about Miriel’s soon-to-be betrothed. “No, we are close to the same age. I was born around a century after the War of the Last Alliance. I remember when Legolas was born, for that was when my father first suggested this marriage.”

What? Amoniel could hardly believe her ears. This elf, older than the prince? Absolutely unbelievable. She didn't know what to say. “You're very small… uh, for your age.” she commented awkwardly. She would have to reevaluate all of their conversations later, to be sure she hadn't accidentally referred to Miriel as a child in front of her face.

Miriel's face flushed with frustration. “Ah, yes, I am very aware of that. I am short. I look like a child. I'm not a child. I'm just a short elf. Strange, I know. It runs in the family. ”

“Oh, uh, very sorry.” Amoniel felt horribly embarrassed at her mistake. She wouldn't forget it for years, and it would approach her late at night all the way into the latest years of her life. She had to change the subject again. “Anyways, about the marriage, what is it exactly that frightens you?”

Miriel felt reluctant to voice her fears. Who was this elleth, that she should reveal everything to her? And yet Amoniel had shared intimate facts of her own life, and she trusted the thieving elf more after their weeks together. She decided to speak what had been hiding in the shadows of her mind for months, years, decades, even.

“I'm scared of… having children.” Miriel sighed. It sounded absurd. Most everyone had children, it was a natural part of life. Amoniel didn’t appear to be about to tease her though, so she continued. “My mother died giving birth to me. She hadn’t had any trouble while in labor, a-and everything had seemed to be going well, until the end. She… she started losing strength and dying, and was gone immediately after I was born.” Miriel paused, her heart hurting for the mother she never knew. “The midwife told my father that because of my mother’s size, it had taken too much of her energy to give life to me.” Another pause, as Miriel considered adding the next piece.

When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “But it wasn't entirely unexpected, because… it had happened before. My parents’ first child, he… died, and my mother nearly died too. They told them they should not try again, that the next time my mother might die. And yet a century later… And… he says that I resemble her in size. I-I'm scared that the same thing will happen to me. It all sounds so painful… Especially being so small… What if I couldn't do it? Who would care for the child if I was gone? What if the child dies?” She faltered and blushed. Miriel had never told anyone, not even Tirrion, about this. “And… I’m afraid of losing my freedom…”

“That’s not an unusual fear,” Amoniel responded kindly. She was surprised Miriel would open up to her like this. She wasn’t the best at giving advice, but she would try. “Many are afraid of having children. I’m sure, if the midwife says it will be fine, I’m sure you will be fine. You’re strong, Miriel. Much stronger than most elves I know. Even if you die, which you won’t, your father will be there for the child, and so will… Tirrion.” Amoniel had to bite her tongue to not say more about her brother. “And as for losing your freedom? You? Nothing could keep you away from the forest.” Amoniel was still reeling from finding out Miriel was not the child she had thought her to be.

“I suppose you're right…” Miriel said quietly. She suddenly felt very exposed, and part of her wished she hadn't shared her fear. “It's all right, I won't have to face that in Lorien,” she said brightly.

Amoniel was silent, remembering all the mistakes she had made as a child. “You shouldn’t run from your problems.” Amoniel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “It never ends well.”

Miriel turned towards her, bitterness in her eyes. “And what is it that you are currently doing?”

“I made my decisions long ago. I cannot go back. My family has moved on without me. Your father has not. I promised I would take you home, Miriel.”

“Well, my home is Lothlorien now.” Miriel's voice was stern. She had made up her mind.

“If you wish,” Amoniel sounded doubtful, but decided not to pursue it further. Miriel could make her own decisions. So could she. She would take Miriel to Lorien, and then find the ring, no matter what stories Miriel made up to dissuade her. Isildur’s Bane? Ridiculous.

Both stung with the words the other had said, and neither of them spoke again as they lay down to sleep.

 

The next day, around noon, they reached the Anduin once again. Miriel and Amoniel sat down quietly on the banks, resting, and eating a tiny bit of the food they had hoarded. There was not much left. Miriel hoped it would be enough to last until they got to Lothlorien. There, she would bring Amoniel some food to continue on her way to… Miriel couldn’t bring herself to think of her friend’s intended journey. She hoped that she would be able to convince her to stay with her in the forest.

Amoniel was still turning the conversation from yesterday over and over in her head. Tirrion. Tirrion. Her Tirrion? Last time she had seen him, he was still a baby… Tirrion, grown up. She had tried to picture it before, but every time she had just pictured her father. She picked a flower, absentmindedly, wondering if she could casually ask Miriel what Tirrion looked like. Tirrion stayed on her mind as they walked, and even the thought of seeing him again put a spring in her step. She had to contain herself so that Miriel, still struggling to walk on her broken ankle, could keep up. As she walked, she kept stooping to pick up flowers and tucked them away into her pockets.

The rest of the day was surprisingly pleasant. Even though a slight shadow hung over the elves, they were able to enjoy the sunlight, and the light breeze issuing from the west. Along the river, traveling was easy. Slightly above the rocky river bank, the ground was hard and flat and liberally sprinkled with bright flora. They were finally able to keep a good pace going for longer, and the thought of orcs grew further and further behind.

After the sun set, Amoniel and Miriel bedded down by the water once again. The thought of pursuit had completely passed from their minds after the day of traveling. Miriel, looking ahead in the fading light, had thought that she could see Lothlórien in the distance. They would not have much farther to travel. When she had pointed this out, Amoniel felt again the intense pull of the ring. After she took Miriel to the golden forest, she could continue on her way to finding it. Amoniel knew that she could trust her thieving intuition to take her directly to the mysterious piece of jewelry. She fell asleep as she had for many nights, falling into a dream filled with golden rings and endless wealth at her fingertips.


	6. Chapter 6

Miriel's eyes flew open. What had that sound been? Her ears pricked upwards and she raised herself silently, tugging the hood of her cloak further down her forehead. There it was again, something was stamping through the tall riverside grass, and breathing heavily. Miriel dropped back to the earth and pressed her ear against the ground. The footsteps were still nearly half a mile away, but they were approaching, and accompanied by a distinct sniffing sound. Miriel's heart jumped into her throat. They were being followed, how could they have just fallen asleep without keeping watch? If they tried to run now, they would be caught. Miriel, in spite of her stubbornness while walking, knew she could not run on her injured ankle. They would have to stay hidden, for now. She reached over and shook Amoniel's shoulder.

“…Avaron… Sun isn't up…” Amoniel muttered, starting to roll over. Miriel slapped her, and Amoniel pushed Miriel away.

“Wake up, and stay quiet,” Miriel hissed. “We're being followed.”

“Followed?? By the orcs?” Amoniel sat up, suddenly wide awake. She listened, and sure enough, the footsteps were drawing closer. She looked at Miriel with large, frightened eyes.

“We will have to hide here, for now…” Miriel whispered. “There is no way we can run. Who knows how many of them may be in hiding around here?”

Amoniel nodded, and the elves continued to listen helplessly as the sounds came closer. Soon, an ugly orc head appeared right above them, sniffing vigorously. While the hideous goblin had massive nostrils, his eyes were small and pinched, and one was covered in a white film. He clearly could not see them. Amoniel let out an involuntary shriek and clapped her hand over her mouth. The orcs eyes immediately snapped to her position. She frantically felt for Miriel’s cloak, but nothing was there. There was no doubt in her mind that the ugly creature was about to kill her, or capture her, then kill her. What about Miriel? What would happen to her, if she was left alone without Amoniel? If she was recaptured?

_That's it, you blew it! You blew everything!_ Amoniel shrank back as the orc raised its ugly club, laughing.

Suddenly, a white thin arm closed around the orc’s throat, cutting off its cruel snigger. A scream escaped from Amoniel's throat as the orc’s club dropped to the ground. His scrawny body shortly followed. Miriel jumped off of its back. Amoniel hadn't even seen her move, that was how fast Miriel had attacked the orc. Miriel now grabbed the dagger off the orc's side. Even in the dark, the blade seemed to absorb any available light. More footsteps suddenly approached, following the sound of Amoniel’s scream. Before Amoniel could regain her senses, two more orcs fell dead, and Miriel stood over them, panting. She threw the dagger on the ground next to them and ran to Amoniel.

“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

“When did you, what just, how did,” Amoniel shook her head, resetting. “Thank you, I'm fine. You saved me, there. I didn't even see you move. How did you, uh, do that?”

“I don’t know.” Miriel seemed slightly shocked. “When I heard you gasp, and saw the orc, I just… it just happened. I guess it was reflex?” She glanced back at the orcs’ bodies, and then all around. There did not seem to be any more in sight. The small band must have been the only search party, at least for now.

Amoniel looked at the pool of blood spreading from the orcs and grabbed Miriel’s shoulder, leaning heavily against her. Her head spun, and she tried to breathe deeply. “You just, uh, uh, you just, uh, you killed them, Miriel.”

Miriel noted Amoniel’s pale face and quick breathing and gently guided her away from the orcs. “We should not stay here. When these orcs don’t return to the mountain, others will no doubt come, and more.”

“Yep,” Amoniel replied dreamily. She suddenly pushed herself away from Miriel, tripping and falling to the ground. “Do you have blood on you, by the way?”

Miriel shook her head, pulling Amoniel back to her feet. “No, no blood. Come on, let’s keep walking.”

Amoniel stumbled and draped herself over Miriel’s shoulder. “Yes, we really should get away from here, yes, yes, we should.” She breathed heavily, slowly regaining her feet. “Sorry, I just really did not expect to be woken up by the sight of blood.” The thought again reduced her legs to jelly, and she leaned heavily on Miriel, who winced.

“How about we… sit here for a little while,” she suggested, voice wavering slightly. “I can’t support your weight.”

“But… the orcs? What if more find us here…” Amoniel glanced around wearily, but she was already sitting.

“Let’s just rest, for a minute or two.” Miriel noticed how pale her friend turned at the mention of the orcs. She didn’t doubt that Amoniel’s mind had turned back to the dead creatures behind them.

Amoniel automatically checked all her pockets, making sure everything was still safely tucked away. _Miriel is putting herself in danger again, for me, she’s just a― wait. Not a child. Oh dear. She’s almost as old as I am. Oh dear, I hope I don’t slip up and call her a kid…_ “Miriel,” she measured her voice carefully, breathing as evenly as she could, “do you remember in the cave?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Will you… tell me a story? Something about your childhood. Or anything, really. Just until I can,” she gestured vaguely to her entire body, “walk again.”

Miriel thought for a moment in silence, then a tiny smile crossed her lips. “One time I barged into a battle, completely on accident.”

“On accident?”

“Well, not quite.” Miriel laughed softly. “It started off innocently enough, I guess. It was about fifty or sixty ago, and a lot of especially strange things had been happening in the forest. I remember one day, when I was out in the forest, I saw a bunch of _dwarves._ ”

Amoniel laughed a strained laugh, but it rang too loudly in the silence. She put her hand over her mouth and spoke through her fingers. “You didn’t. Come on, Miriel. Everyone knows that dwarves don’t go in Mirkwood.”

“I did, I swe― I really did.” Miriel continued. “I am sure you heard about the whole thing with the dragon. Anyways, when the King found out about all the gold, he decided to take a company over to the mountain to see what was left. My father was part of that, and he told me to stay home. Naturally, that only made me want to go more.” Miriel laughed a little. “I told my friend Tirrion about that, and he agreed to take me along, by hiding me. We thought it would be entertaining to look for gold together.”

“Tirrion?”

Miriel thought Amoniel sounded breathless again, and she looked a bit paler. Perhaps the story wasn’t working. “Yes. I mentioned him the other day. I don’t know if you’ll remember―”

“Oh yes, I remember him. Sorry. Please continue. Tirrion brought you, in secret.” _Maybe Tirrion is just like me, keeping things from our parents. Would that be a good or bad thing?_

“It did not go as well as we had intended. He couldn’t find any armor that I could, well, stand up in.” She looked embarrassed, slightly. “I ended up tagging along at the end, following at a distance so none of the company would see me.”

“You could have stolen armor from a dwarf.” Amoniel gave Miriel a winning grin, if a bit of a tired grin.

Miriel ignored the comment entirely. “I’m sure you can guess what came next, if you know about the battle of the five armies. The dwarves were not dead, and they had closed up the mountain. I’m not really sure what all took place before the orcs came, because I stayed away from the camp for the most part. Then the fight started.”

“Ah, fighting?” Amoniel’s voice sounded a little weaker.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go into details.” Miriel considered talking about blood anyway, for the comment about wearing dwarf armor. “Things started to get crazy when we heard of the orcs coming. Fortunately, I had my bow and my sword.

“You brought weapons on a treasure hunt?”

“Yes. I always have my weapons. Anyways, the fighting started. But I couldn’t stay away from the elves, I needed the protection. So I just tried to stay away from my father. Even that didn’t work out like I was intending.”

“You ran into him?”  
Miriel laughed a little. “I killed an orc that was attacking my father, so, yes, he saw me. I do not think I have ever seen him so angry. I got out of there before he could say anything to me, though. I think he sent a guard after me, but I ran away before I could find out for sure.”

“Miriel! You should have left. You could have died there, Tirrion could have died! Neither of you should have been there.” Amoniel noted the look on Miriel’s face. “Sorry, I’m lecturing you.”

Miriel noted Amoniel’s sudden interest in Tirrion, but she shrugged it off for the time being. At least Amoniel was looking better, now. “I kept fighting, anyways. I don’t really remember much of the end of the battle, though.”

“Why not?”

“I was wounded, by an orc’s arrow. Tirrion tried to get me to stop, but I could still fight, and we were outnumbered. I don’t really remember much after he tried to stop me, other than that he was yelling at me, and I kept fighting until―” Miriel was going to mention losing blood, but she caught herself. “―until I blacked out.”

“Wow,” Amoniel was entranced by Miriel’s tale of bravery. Amoniel didn’t think she could ever fight a real battle, considering she couldn’t even get a papercut without breaking into semi-hysterical tears.

“When I woke up, I was still lying where I fell, but the fight seemed to be over. I felt… very strange, disconnected almost. I couldn’t see or hear anything very well, but someone was calling my name. I tried to answer, but I don’t know if anyone could hear―”

“Frightening,” Amoniel commented with a shudder.

“―but apparently I did say something, because I remember seeing Tirrion, I think. He picked me up, and I don’t remember anything after that. At least, I don’t think I do…”

“Tirrion carried you? That was nice of him. Sorry, what do you mean by you don’t _think_ you do?”

“Well, I-I had a strange dream, or something, I thought I saw th-this place, but it faded out into nothing.. It was….very strange.”

“What was it like? The place you saw?”

Miriel was at a loss for words for a second. “I’m not sure, it was all very light, but I think I saw elves?” She shook her head. “I could hardly describe it. It was probably just a dream.”  
Amoniel stood, dusting herself off. The blood had returned to her face, and her breathing was even. Talk of Tirrion had revived her faster than she had thought. “Maybe… we should begin moving again? But, please, finish the story. What happened next?”

“When I woke up again, Tirrion was there, and Ada, and he scolded me, then kept hugging me, telling me he loved me. I was a bit confused, but everything turned out all right, I suppose.” She stood up, bracing herself against the ground as she rose.

“Tirrion… took you to a healer then? Did you go home after?”

“Tirrion had carried me to the healer, so they said. Once everything had been properly sorted out, we all went home. It didn’t take me long to recover, but Ada didn’t let me out of the house for weeks.”

Amoniel laughed. “Understandably.”

“You appear to be feeling better, now.” Miriel glanced at the other elleth, who was breathing and walking without a struggle now.

“Oh, yes, thank you. Do you have… more stories? That really did make me feel better.” Inwardly, Amoniel wondered if she could learn more about Tirrion.

“Well, none as exciting, but Tirrion and I have been on a few other adventures when we were younger.” She launched into another story, Amoniel hanging on to her every word.

 

The elves continued to walk along the river as the light grew slightly less dim, and the sun eventually rose above distant mountains. Both were tired, but the thought of pursuing orcs kept them walking. The stories had made the time pass more easily for a while, but both eventually fell silent again.

“I would guess that we will be in Lothlorien by morning tomorrow,” Miriel said thoughtfully, as they sat hidden behind a bush to eat. With the problems of Mirkwood lost far in the foggy landscape behind, the thought of the golden wood was especially inviting. Miriel was excited to see her aunt, enjoy the spring flowers, and listen to the endless music. She would be able to get proper healing for her ankle as well, her mind added, as she gingerly shifted her injured leg’s position.

“Ah. Good.” Amoniel’s fingers were especially itchy since they had been freed, and it seemed to be reaching an obnoxious peak. Although she had no doubt that her thieving intuition was right about the value of the ring, it certainly seemed to be leading her to a very uncomfortable place. She was slightly jealous of Miriel’s position. She had family who cared about her, in probably the most blissful place in Middle Earth. But Amoniel was used to living alone, had learned to enjoy it long ago. She had visited many dangerous locations before, always on her own. So why did she feel so apprehensive about parting ways? She looked at the smaller elleth next to her. “Miriel.”

“Yes?” Miriel turned towards Amoniel.

“Would you… Consider going with me? To look for the ring? You could still stop and visit Lothlorien. I just…” her voice trailed off.

Miriel sighed softly. “I-I really must stay with my family. I can’t go off looking for a cursed object… You shouldn’t either.”

“It’s just a ring, Miriel.”

Miriel made a negative noise. “Maybe,” she paused. “Amoniel… Don’t you have anyone to go back to? At all?”

Amoniel’s footsteps faltered, and she tripped slightly on an indentation in the ground. “Um.”

“Sorry I asked,” Miriel said automatically. Amoniel looked away, but once again, she could feel Miriel’s eyes on her.

“It’s all right. I… I mean, I don’t really, it’s just…”

“Avaron?”

Amoniel looked sharply at Miriel, and, as she suspected, Miriel had already been staring back. “How did you know that?”

Miriel shrugged. “You said it in your sleep this morning, when I woke you because of the orcs. Is he your father? Some elf you’ve been seeing?”

Amoniel shook her head. “I don’t know. He just helped me when I… was exiled.”

Miriel waited for Amoniel to elaborate, but she seemed content to stop there. “So… does he live nearby?”

“…I have been meaning to go visit him, lately. But, no. He doesn’t.” Amoniel was unusually quiet.

“You could go visit him, instead of trying to find this ring.”

“I promised I’d take you home. I plan to stick to that promise. Wherever the ring is, it’s sure to be closer to Lothlorien than Avaron. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay… What do you want to talk about?”

Amoniel stooped to pick up a flower. “There are daffodils all around here.” She gave it to Miriel, who gently tucked the long stem behind her ear. “They can bloom for weeks or even months, and they’re incredibly resilient. Their sap is actually toxic to other flowers―” She continued to speak, telling facts for each plant they passed. Even though Miriel already knew the vast majority of what she was saying, she was happy to hear Amoniel chattering away excitedly. It put a layer of normalcy over their trek to Lothlorien. The rest of the day went by much faster as they discussed the weirdest things they knew about whatever plants they passed. They were both carrying bouquets of interesting flowers by the end of the day.

 

The next day dawned bright and cheery. Both elves had slept comfortably, and the afternoon held the promise of reaching Lothlorien. Miriel had pointed to the hardly discernible line of gold in the distance, shining in the morning sun. Miriel wondered what her family was doing right then. How would they react to her sudden arrival? It would no doubt seem strange that she had come for a pleasure visit in such a turbulent time, and alone, of all things. Miriel felt a renewed pang of guilt. She would not be able to elude questions about her father for long. And, there was the issue of getting food or supplies to Amoniel, so she could continue on her way. If she openly entered the forest, there would be no way for her to get back out. Would they even let her in? Miriel had never had trouble, considering her family, but a stranger might. Her uncle had mentioned in the past how tight the security there was, and it would likely be even more so now. Perhaps Amoniel would think about staying with her? Miriel sighed slightly and tugged at her hood. Those considerations could wait until they reached the forest.

Amoniel felt her spirits lifting, before remembering that she wasn’t stopping at Lothlorien. She wondered if she could get in with Miriel, but she didn’t want to have to stay. Something told her that Galadriel would not look kindly on her mission. Both walked silently for a long while, enjoying the morning, thinking.

“So… Your mother’s family. What are they like?” Amoniel’s voice broke the silence. A bird nearby stopped singing for a second, and then started again.

Miriel thought a while. “I have not seen them in a very long time. But my aunt is beautiful, as are my cousins. My aunt… looks like Ada says my mother did.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely. You must be excited to see them?”

“I am. It has been much too long…” Miriel’s voice trailed off, and she stared towards the distant yellow line. The shapes of the trees were starting to become visible.

“Lothlorien really is a lovely place to live,” Amoniel’s eyes were distant as well. “The flowers there seem more vibrant than anywhere else.”

Miriel thought she heard something in the distance, and she gave a quick glance over her shoulder. She didn’t see anything. “Yes,” she said, distractedly.

“Are you okay? You seem―”

“Wait. Stop.” Miriel hushed her friend, and tweaked her ear towards the land behind them. She dropped to the earth and listened for a second then stood up, looking slightly alarmed. “Someone is approaching, on horseback. No―there are many riders.”

Without another word, they both dove behind a large bush. Sure enough, within a few minutes, the sound of hooves on the ground could be clearly heard. Miriel peered through the leaves, off into the distance. Her strong elvish eyes quickly noted a solid block of riders, moving swiftly down the path. Their armor flashed here and there in the daylight. With a grin, Miriel disentangled herself from the bushes and walked back into the road.

Amoniel grabbed her arm roughly. “Are you insane?” she hissed. “Get back here!” Miriel jerked her arm away.

“It’s elves! Their armor is from home.” She stood in the road and waved to them. Amoniel reluctantly crawled out from the bush to join her. Within a short time, the elves had ridden up and their leader swung down from his horse. His hair was dark, and he wore a grey cloak over his armor.

“Tirrion?” Miriel asked in shock. She knew that her father might send someone after her, but she did not expect the captain of the guard himself. Was there something more going on?

“Tirrion?” Amoniel asked, to herself. She studied her brother very closely. He did bear a resemblance to the baby picture she kept secure in her pocket. He also bore a resemblance to her father, her mother, and to herself. She saw, with a pang of bittersweet pride, how strong and important he had grown to be. She wondered if he could recall her at all, if he would remember the games they used to play. For now, he only had eyes for her friend.

“Miriel!” the elf looked both surprised and relieved. Tirrion quite suddenly swept Miriel into a close embrace. “When we did not find you at the orc filth’s camp, we assumed the worst.” He squeezed her tightly for a second before releasing her, frowned, and his eyes flickered to Amoniel. There was something about her that seemed familiar, although he couldn’t place it. This must be the other, unknown elf that the orcs had captured. She was staring at him intently, but not unkindly. Miriel spoke, and his eyes returned to her face. She seemed to be all right. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding for several days now.

“What’s going on?” she asked, reading in his face that the orcs at the camp were the least of their concerns.

“The orcs approached the city three days ago, and demanded command of it for the safe return of you and your companion. The elf council sent us out to search for you, then closed and locked the gates. They will not hold out forever. Soon, the orcs will grow impatient and attack. They may have already attacked. We must return as quickly as possible; they will need our help urgently. We are greatly outnumbered.” Tirrion jumped back on his horse. “Hador, take Miriel’s companion. We must ride like we never have before!”

Hador nodded and put Amoniel on his horse.

Tirrion motioned for Miriel to jump on the horse in front of him. She hung back for a second, a second of doubt. She could go with Tirrion, now, and help save her city from the orcs. Or, she could continue on to Lothlorien… The next moment, she was putting her injured foot in the stirrup and attempting to swing over. It hurt more than she was anticipating, and she took a breath, standing on the ground again.

“Here.” Tirrion grabbed her hand to pull her up, and held onto the ankle of her foot in the stirrup to support her. A burst of pain shot up Miriel’s leg, and she gasped and gripped his hand tightly.

“Ah, don't―!” She stiffened as she quickly pulled herself onto the horse. Tirrion frowned.

“You are injured.” His hand quickly moved away from her ankle.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine.” Miriel looked down, away from him. Tirrion's sharp eyes noticed the crude bandage and the bruised flesh around her ankle immediately. He cursed himself for not having noticed it sooner. Was there more? What had the orcs done to her?

“That's not nothing, Miriel. I’m going to get the healer.”

The next thing she knew, Miriel was sitting on the ground, one of Tirrion's company bent over her leg. She reluctantly sipped on a sweet-smelling liquid he had given her. It sizzled in her mouth, but seemed to dull the sharp bursts of pain as the healer felt the bones in her ankle, moved the joint back and forth. Amoniel was being obnoxious in the background, speaking loudly to Tirrion.

“I told her she would need to get that looked at. She’s so stubborn, isn’t she?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Tirrion replied, absently. This other elf was very familiar to him. He had seen the small portrait of Amoniel their parents kept in their home, but it didn’t quite connect with the dirty elf he saw before him. He shook the half-formed thought from his mind before his brain could make the connection, and instead faced Miriel again, concerned.

“Your ankle has been broken for some time,” the healer said. “I will bandage it, but there is little else I can do, at least for now.” Miriel nodded as the healer made another paste of herbs, as she had done in the cave, and bound it tightly in clean bandages, making her wince. A sip from her beverage kept the pain at bay. Tirrion helped her stand once again, this time lifting her onto the horse. Almost before Miriel could catch her breath, the horse had begun to move.

Amoniel scrambled to climb onto the horse she was sharing with Hador. He jumped on behind her and grabbed the reins. _Finally, I can truly see Miriel home._

 

Within moments, the squadron of elves were thundering along at top speed down the path. Miriel stared straight ahead, but turned due to a slight touch at her side. Tirrion was offering her a belt with a sword. It was her own.

“The orcs had left only this behind, they dared not touch it,” he spat, and then softened. “We figured that you would have need of it. Your father also has the dagger you carried. Are you all right, is your ankle okay?”

“Thank you!” Miriel strapped the sword around her waist. “I am fine. I just hope that everyone at home is too…” She thought of her father having nothing but a knife to remember her by until she returned, and grew impatient to be back.

“I hope so, as well. But let’s not dwell on that. It seems like much has happened to you since your disappearance.”

“So much has happened, I hardly know where to begin.” Miriel sighed, and thought back to the last day she had been home, gathering her thoughts. It took a couple miles worth of riding to pour out her whole tale. She left out the portion about attempting to leave for Lothlorien. Her father was more important right now. Tirrion listened in amazement.

“You think the ring your companion was looking for was truly Isildur’s Bane?” he asked.

“I don’t see what else it could have been.” Miriel shook her head. “Like  I said, it was strange that such an experienced thief would go through to much trouble for one tiny piece of jewelry.”

At the word thief, a strange look crossed Tirrion’s face. He glanced backwards towards Amoniel on Hador’s horse. “What did you say her name was again?”

“Amoniel…” Miriel replied, slowly starting to understand. She glanced back at his face. His eyes were wide with shock, and now she could see the overwhelming resemblance…

She thought back to hyperventilating in the cave, when she had asked Amoniel to tell her the story of her family. She hadn’t been feeling her best at the time, but she did remember silently questioning why Amoniel had not mentioned any names in her tale. She had assumed it was because Amoniel was ashamed of her family, but another potential reason now donned on her. The slip Amoniel had made when speaking of her brother. Perhaps Amoniel’s brother was the elf Miriel herself was now to be betrothed to? Again, Miriel reached back into the depths of her memory. When she had been very young, she remembered hearing her father talking to some other faceless figure about an elf who had gone away. The same day, her childhood friend had been crying because he didn’t know where his sister had gone…

Miriel snapped her head around and looked at Tirrion, and their eyes met with understanding.

“Amoniel… she’s your sister, isn’t she?” she asked, breathlessly.

“I… I do not see how it could be anyone else.” Tirrion shook his head. It was so unbelievable, and yet it made so much sense. A sudden desire to see his sister rushed over him again, and he glanced back at her. There was now no doubt in his mind. “She looks much the same as her portrait, only… older. Dirtier.”

“Are you going to talk to her?”

Tirrion looked at Amoniel for a long time. “Do you think she knows?”

“I believe so.”

“Then I will speak with her… When the time is right.”

Miriel nodded. Tirrion watched her hair bounce and catch the light. Despite their grim situation, despite what they were riding towards, despite even the arrival of his long-lost sister, he couldn’t help but see only Miriel. She had given him a warm enough welcome, but some cold wall had slowly grown between them since her father had wished for them to be engaged. He wanted that wall of ice to melt, but he didn’t know how. It was something Miriel had to overcome for herself, he knew, yet he still sighed. He did not wish to marry someone who did not love him, but he had always thought Miriel… She was at least his closest friend. He wanted her to be happy, if nothing else. Speaking of―

Amoniel laughed at something Hador told her, the sound catching up to Tirrion and Miriel. “Sounds like Hador has already become her friend,” Tirrion remarked. He squinted at the pair. “I think they’d make good friends, don’t you?”

“I can see that.” A hint of a smile crossed Miriel’s lips. ****


	7. Chapter 7

The company reached the crossing point on the Anduin around sunset. As much as Tirrion wanted to continue, the horses needed rest. Hopefully the city would hold one more night. He helped Miriel down from the horse, and she steadied herself on his arm. The blood was rushing into Miriel’s ankle after sitting all day, making it throb, so Tirrion placed his hand on her back, steadying her. She gripped Tirrion’s arm a little tighter for a second before letting him go.

“Thank you, Tirrion.” Miriel muttered. Her face suddenly felt warm. She limped back over to Amoniel before Tirrion could respond. Tirrion’s eyes followed her for a few seconds before shifting back to the elves making their camp.

“You’re welcome,” he whispered as she went. His face also felt warm, and he wiped his sweaty hands on his cheeks to cool them.

Amoniel turned as Miriel she walked over and sat down next to her, by the edge of the river. “Do you think we will return in time?”

“I do not know.” Miriel stared into the river’s soft waves, her face hidden by the hood of her cloak. They both remained silent, not wanting to discuss what would happen if the city had been taken before their return.

Within a few minutes, a guard in a heavy cloak summoned them closer to the elf camp. Tirrion wanted the two elleths to sleep inside the circle of elves, well out of harm’s way. They lay down on the hard ground, back to back, for warmth. This was much more comfortable than the nights they had spent amongst the orcs, but the shadow of the approaching war laid upon them heavily.

Miriel glanced up at the stars, trying to push the horrifying thoughts out of her mind. The stars were comfortingly the same as always, twinkling gently, far away. It didn’t matter what took place on this sorry earth, the stars would continue to shine all the same. Somehow, that comforted Miriel. A bit of continuity in the midst of great turmoil. A song that her father had taught her long ago started to play in her mind, and she hummed it quietly. _A! Elbereth Gilthoniel…_ Miriel fell asleep, the words still echoing through her head.

 

Morning came quickly, and soon another cloaked guard was waking Amoniel and Miriel up. Many of the riders had already returned to their horses, and the formation was taking shape once again. Miriel felt a sense of urgency as Tirrion helped her back onto his horse. Amoniel rode with Hador once again. They did not speak, aside from his word to the company to keep moving. Around mid-morning, they reached the edge of the woods, and were soon traveling single file down a dark, seldom used path through Mirkwood.

As they rode deeper into the woods, the elves could hear shrieks and clashes of metal on metal, the sounds of battle. Smoke rose in great pillars from what seemed to be the land of the elves. Miriel’s heart sank; she had so hoped that they would have been able to hold off the despicable creatures. Just before the battle came into view, Tirrion motioned for the elven guards to stop. Wisps of smoke wafted eerily through the trees.

Amoniel shivered, already picturing the blood she would have to see.

“Are you all right?” Hador asked her, softly.

“I'll be okay.” Amoniel twisted her fingers together, breathing deeply in anticipation.

“You don’t have to fight with us,” he said as gently as he could. “There will be others who do not―”

“I’m doing this,” Amoniel said, harsher than she meant to. She shivered again and forced her breathing to slow. “For Miriel.”

Hador suddenly wondered where this elf had come from. He had never seen her around Miriel before, but now was not the time for his mind to wander. Tirrion was yelling instruction at the small band of elves. “We are going to enter from the west, where the orcs are least protected. Prepare yourselves for battle! Now let us go forward, for the elves!” They all gave a great shout and rode into the midst of the battle.

 

Berion looked all around from his position on the hill. The outcome of the battle looked grim. It seemed that there were many more orcs than elves standing. Many of the surrounding trees where ablaze, and the air was full of smoke. At least none of the fires had made it into the city yet. They needed Tirrion and his company to return, and now. Berion's sword flashed and another orc fell dead. He thought, as he had many times since the battle started, of Miriel. Had they found her? Was she alive? Another orc fell under his sword. Berion's companion beside him dropped, an arrow through his chest. Berion ducked a second arrow aimed at him, swiping up to deflect an orc’s blow.

Suddenly, from the west, there was a loud blast on a trumpet accompanied by a swelling shout, and a significant number of elves rode in on horses. Tirrion and his company had returned. Berion continued fighting, but wondered whether or not the search for his daughter had been successful. He watched through the trees, and after several minutes, his eyes caught just a glimpse of Tirrion on his horse, fighting hard. But where was Miriel? He could not see her. As he looked, several orcs sprinted towards Berion and he turned to fight them, losing focus of Tirrion.

 

For a short time, Miriel fought while on Tirrion’s horse. Many orcs fell by her sword before being trampled by the animal. The fight fell into a rhythm. Miriel swung her sword continuously, striking orc after orc. Swing, trample. Swing, trample. Swing, duck, dodge, swing, trample.

Suddenly, a group of large orcs loomed up in front of them. Miriel stabbed two before Tirrion pulled the horse roughly to the side. Miriel, Tirrion, and the horse narrowly missed being hit by one of the orcs’ club. Miriel swung at another as arrows whizzed past her ears. She suddenly felt Tirrion grab her shoulders and pull her forcefully off of the horse. She fell hard against the bloodstained ground. Miriel looked up towards Tirrion as the arrow that would have gone straight through her bare forehead struck his armor and fell away. Her hip was throbbing where she had landed, and it took her a couple of seconds to recover before leaping back to her feet. Tirrion had already been pushed several feet away. At first, Miriel tried to fight her way back to Tirrion, but the swell of orcs quickly forced her to simply fight for her life. She crossed the field, hoping to move around the orcs, but got caught up in another dense swell. Slicing through orcs, she felt the throng gradually pushing her farther away from Tirrion, farther from the forest, closer to her home. Closer to Berion, though neither of them saw the other until the battle was long over.

Hador had pushed Amoniel off his horse. She had been shaking so much before the battle even began that he had mercifully dropped her near the far edge of the battle and told her to hang back. He made sure she had a dagger before leaving her, telling her to stay out of sight.

Amoniel had hung back from the fighting, at first. She glanced down in horror at her dagger, up in horror at the blood pouring over the forest, and slowly backed away. Miriel and Tirrion were already going full tilt, but seeing that only made Amoniel anxious and nauseous. Her mind forced her thoughts into her ears, and they played again and again and again. _I don't like blood, I don't like blood, I do not like blood, I don't like blood, oh god is that bone?, I don't like blood, I don't_ like _it!_

She pulled further away from the fight. Maybe she could just stay away! That would be fine; that would be all right. No blood amongst the distant trees! _But you can't abandon Tirrion! Or Miriel. You have to stay, Amoniel, you have to._ Her thoughts began to spiral, and she began to hyperventilate. She sank back into the surrounding trees, shaking. She stared at the shining, pristine dagger in her hand. She would not taint it today. In its reflection, she could see the battle behind her raging. As she watched, temporarily transfixed by the reflection of the battle, an orc’s head suddenly sprang into focus in the distance and was immediately cut off. _Oh god._ The world began to get black around the edges. She was aware of how hot it suddenly seemed, and how close to tears she was. _Weak! Go fight with your brother! With your friend!_ She ignored these thoughts in favor of self pity. She did not want to be here. She did not ask for this. This was not her fight. She stepped back a few more feet. She turned to fade away completely into the trees.

Someone suddenly stumbled upon her. The first thing she noticed was his stomach, which had been pierced through so she could see inside. She moaned and forced her eyes up, into his. _RUN!_ Her mind screamed, but she was shaking too much. The world grew darker. The dying elf who had stumbled into her grabbed her wrists, and her dagger clattered to the ground. She went into hysterics. _His hands are covered in blood, his own blood, he's covering my arms in blood!_ While the world did then come back into focus, it came back with the vengeance of clarity. She could see every crimson drop running down her forearms. She shouted, struggling to pull away, but the elf’s grip was firm. He was attempting to tell her something, something that must have been important to him, but Amoniel couldn't hear over her own screaming. She had to pull away―

The elf holding her suddenly stopped speaking and turned a shade of green that Amoniel didn't like. He vomited blood on her and fell to the ground, finally relinquishing her wrists.

_GOD NO!!!_

Amoniel spun on her heel and ran. She spotted Miriel wildly in the distance, and her vision focused to a point. She would run to Miriel, and Miriel would take her out of there. She would get away. She ran.

 

Miriel wiped a combination of sweat, dirt, and some blood from her forehead as she quickly glanced around. Fighting everywhere. Surveying the field, she saw almost too many orcs to count. This would be difficult, but most elves had taken up swords and bows to defend their home. They were many in number, and she hoped it would be enough. She glanced closer at a tangle of elves and orcs hard at battle. Suddenly, her eyes caught sight of Tirrion. His horse was gone, and his sword flashed right and left. She grinned, proud of how well he fought. With honor. He was holding his own amongst many large orcs. Maybe even too many. Miriel suddenly began to panic. He couldn't possibly fight all of them? She looked for the clearest path to Tirrion and began running. Almost immediately, she was assailed by an orc, who she stabbed and subsequently ducked, yanking her sword back into the air. The smell of iron and a fresh spray of blood hit the air, but Miriel was already running again. A crushing amount of fighting beings quickly blocked her path. Whether they were elves or orcs, she couldn't say. She was too busy trying to find a way to see Tirrion through them. An arrow whizzed past her, whether meant for her or not, and she followed it with a swipe from her sword. The attack worked. A window cleared, and through it she saw him, for just a few seconds.

Tirrion was still fighting several orcs at a time. His sword was flashing so quickly that Miriel could hardly see it. _There are too many…_ Miriel tried to push her way towards him, but it was all she could do to stay on her feet. Tirrion was surrounded now, he couldn’t fight them all…

“Look out!” Miriel shrieked, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of the battle. She watched in horror as a huge orc brought his ugly axe down, right on Tirrion’s chest, and he crumpled like a rag doll. His crushed scream echoed in Miriel’s ears as she began to blindly fight her way towards him, but the press was too strong. She thought she could see him on the ground, in between someone’s legs, but a dark blade narrowly missing her throat turned her focus away. She was soon only focused on staying alive. She couldn't even see Tirrion anymore. She could only see the orcs directly in front of her, pushing her back.

It seemed as if for every orc Miriel knocked down, three more came up to take its place. She stumbled over the rough ground, holding her own against a never-ending onslaught of orcs. _I wish I had a shield,_ she thought, turning to slice at another orc. For every few orcs, there was an elf fending them off. They had greater skill than most orcs, but their numbers were simply not as many. Miriel feared for her home when the fighting allowed her even a second to think beyond what she was doing right then. What would become of the survivors, if the orcs were to win? They would no doubt destroy the city. The thought of becoming prisoner to the dreadful creatures once again made Miriel’s sword flash even faster.

Fighting the orcs, her left side felt horribly exposed, especially without armor. Miriel wished she at least had another weapon to wield in her left hand. Blows from her fist would do her more harm to her than to the enemy she hit. She knew she couldn’t fight purely defensively, but it was hard to not spend the fight entirely watching her own back. She wished the elves weren’t quite so spread out. She had already made her way halfway across the field to the city. If she could just pull a few together—

Her thought was interrupted by a huge club swinging towards her. Miriel jumped away quickly and blocked the blow. Her opponent’s mouth opened in surprise. He was clearly expecting an easy kill, not a fight. As Miriel attempted a fatal blow, he gave an angry cry, calling over an even bigger orc wielding a dark, heavy axe, before blocking her sword with the club. The force almost disarmed Miriel, and she was unable to finish off the orc with the club before the second arrived. Both were coming at her from either side, and she panicked, unsure which to hold off first. She chose the club on a whim, it being the first object to come at her, and hit it hard with her sword, hard enough to splinter the wood almost all the way through. The orc with the axe swung it a fraction of a second later, as she shoved her sword into the one with the club. Miriel felt the heavy blade bite her ribs and cut in deep. The force threw her to the ground, and her sword was ripped out of her hand. Adrenaline and shock kept her from feeling anything more than pure anger. How dare he take advantage of her lack of a shield like that? He would pay, dearly. Just as she started to spring back up, the orc’s heavy boot crashed down right on her chest, pinning her tightly against the ground again. Her blood quickly coated the shoe and she coughed hard and choked, laying on the ground several seconds. Her vision faltered slightly as she struggled to catch her breath. Although Miriel could not yet feel the pain of her injury, her lungs felt crushed. She went limp, struggling to breath.

The orc that had wounded her ran forward into the fighting, now out of Miriel’s reach. Another one above her swung a blow that almost hit her head as an elf stepped on her stomach. Staying on the ground was dangerous. For now at least, her fighting instinct was stronger than the effect of whatever the orc axe had done to her. Finally she struggled to her feet, gasping, grabbed her sword out of the now dead orc in which it was caught, and kept moving deeper into the fighting, closer towards the entrance to the city.

 

It seemed that everyone around Amoniel was pushing and shoving, yet she somehow ran by all of it, impervious. She was focused on one thing only: getting to Miriel. She fled past Tirrion, who lost concentration for a vital second to gape at her. He turned, following her path, called out to her. “Amoniel!”

She didn't hear, so focused was she on her task. Tirrion forced his mind back into the battle, but too late. His dying scream wasn't even heard by Amoniel. She was running on adrenaline and instinct, only.

Halfway to Miriel, she was finally hit, but not by a weapon. An elf had accidentally knocked her forcefully to the left, and another body pushed her away, backwards from where she was going. She threw her arms in a circle, tripping backwards for balance. Her mind wouldn't be able to cope if she landed in a pile of blood, it just wouldn't. The repeating thought _Get to Miriel_ was replaced with _Avoid the blood, avoid the blood, avoid…_ She might have lost her balance and her sanity then and there, if she wasn't suddenly attacked. A spear swung towards her head and she instinctively threw herself the opposite way. She heard someone come to her aid, killing the beast who had swung at her, but she didn't process this information beyond subconsciously. She spun on her heel with the intention to keep running the way she had been going, the danger temporarily passed. Less than a second later, her face nearly met the ground as she fell on top of another elf. He was actually wearing armor, while Amoniel wore only clothes and a cloak, and she felt a bruise already beginning to form where her body hit his. Crystal blue eyes stared into hers with an expression she could only describe as fierce. Those eyes haunted her dreams for many nights, but she was unable to place whether they had looked angry or simply intense.

Amoniel rolled off of the man she had fallen onto, quickly, and time suddenly slowed to an impossible crawl. She watched an arrow whizz through the air not three feet above where the elf she had knocked into now lay. In that moment, Amoniel glanced back over at him, wildly. A sudden recognition clicked, and she scooted away from him as fast as possible. The King?! Thranduil, who had exiled her! She met his eyes again and, this time, was able to accurately read the shock in their scrutiny. This look was followed by recognition. She scrambled onto her feet, and took off running in any direction. She thought she heard the King say, “Amoniel?” It was soft enough that she put it up to imagination, for now. The idea of the King actually recognizing her was too much to bear. _You knocked the King over and now he's going to have you killed, Amoniel, you have to get away, you have to—_

She had only taken half a step as all these thoughts blasted through her mind in quick succession. A sword flashed in front of her, and the whistling noise of an arrow accompanied it. Something glanced off her ribcage, just below her collarbone. She thought it might have gone in between her ribs. A moment’s pause and, in fact, she knew it had been so. She was so shocked, so assured that nothing would hit her, yet so assured that the blow she had just been dealt would be fatal, that she didn't even bother raising her fists to defend herself. She looked down.

There was blood. A _lot_ of blood. While her cloak had, somehow, incredibly, flipped over her shoulder when she had hit the King, and therefore not been torn, her shirt was sliced. She couldn't look directly at the wound, but she didn't need to. She knew it was fatal. The pain seemed to increase by a hundred times as she screamed louder than she had ever done, convinced she was dead already, and darkness washed over her vision.

The King, having picked himself up from the ground in a haste, had seen Amoniel stand, turn, and take a single step. He watched a sword swing at her, and then saw her collapse screaming to the ground, covered in an inordinate amount of blood. She lay still, pale as a corpse already. Sticking out of her attacker’s neck was the arrow that Amoniel had heard whistling past his sword, and the orc died on the spot as well. The arrow that had nearly hit the King was long since lost to the throes of the battle, but he had seen it fly overhead just after Amoniel pushed him out of the way. To all concerned, Amoniel had just died immediately after saving the King’s life.

It seemed that years had passed since the battle began. Miriel raised her sword shakily, but there were no orcs in sight. None alive, that is. She looked down at herself, becoming aware of her body for the first time since the fighting had started. It was covered in blood and dirt. Whether it was her own, she could not tell, but she was beginning to notice the pain. Her head and ankle were throbbing, and every breath brought an excruciating burst of pain to her ribs. Miriel’s left lung seemed completely immobilized, and she wondered if it was bringing in any air at all. Her trembling hand moved upwards and rested on the epicenter of the pain. It was bloody and torn. She bit her lip and looked down. The orc axe that had cut into her earlier had gone deep. Blood was still pouring out of the wound in periodic waves, but she thought she could see where her ragged flesh ended and something inside her began. _That’s bad,_ Miriel’s brain told her numb body, and she wrapped her cloak around her hand and applied pressure to the wound, looking away.

Miriel noticed that she had ended up at the entrance to the city, and the only ones still standing seemed to be elves. Her attention turned back to those around her. One guard was helping another to his feet, and yet another sat on the ground, feeling someone’s pulse. The noise of battle had turned to varied conversations here and there, some shouting for help or a healer. Many elves were putting out the numerous fires that the orcs had started. Fortunately, none of them had worked their way to the elves’ homes, although many of the beautiful tall trees had been obliterated. Other than that, only the birds and the rustling of trees in the slight wind could be heard. Miriel’s eyes scanned the battlefield again. Where were Amoniel, and Tirrion? And her father? He had also been in the fight, no doubt. There were a lot of elves on the ground, a rather staggering amount, but there were also a lot still standing, now running around, helping.

Miriel’s heart suddenly leaped into her throat. She caught a flash of dark blue on a hill, where several seemingly dead elves lay. It was the same color as her father’s. She mouthed some words that no one heard, then ran as fast as her unstable legs would carry her to the spot of color. She prayed that somehow, it wasn’t him.

She stumbled and fell as she reached the top of the hill, staring in horror at what she found there. Underneath the old blue cloak lay her father, an arrow in the center of his chest. His face was serene and pale, and a tiny stream of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Shaking uncontrollably, she placed her hand on his cheek. It was cold. He was not breathing, had not been breathing for some time.

“Ada, please,” she whispered hoarsely. “Please give me something, please.” She glanced around frantically. Her father’s sword was embedded in a large orc next to him; he had won his last fight. Miriel pulled it out and, trembling, placed the sword in his larger hands. Hands she could only remember touching her hair one last time, could only picture holding her close. No more. “Ada! Can you hear me? Please, Ada! _Ada!_ ” Her father did not move. Miriel yelled in anguish and frustration and threw her arms around her father, holding him tightly. Why did it have to be him? She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, screaming again in grief, shaking. Miriel’s mind was too overcome with emotion to notice when everything faded away, the pain of her wound finally taking over.


	8. Chapter 8

Amoniel heard voices speaking around her, and she couldn't put a face to any of them. Where was she, again? She opened her eyes, seeing only light. Was she outside? As her eyes adjusted in leaps and bounds, she saw the dead orcs around her first. She panicked, remembering the battle. Wasn’t she dead? She had thought she was. But why? She recalled her fatal wound with a wince, and her chest instantly started hurting where she had gotten hit. Was she imagining the pain? She couldn’t force herself to look at the injury. She assumed it was as deep as a well and as wide as an orc. As she pondered this, sure she would be dying soon, she took in the rest of her surroundings. She realized she was lying on her back with a healer and a couple other elves leaning over her. They seemed confused, as well. She couldn’t help but notice that they were not in the right place to block the sun. She supposed she would just die with the sun in her eyes, then.

“I don't understand. This isn't a deep wound, it is hardly a scratch! She should be fine,” the healer seemed to be explaining herself. She watched Amoniel’s eyes wander up to her own and blink hard.

Amoniel reached up, tenderly, and shielded her eyes from the sun. The pain in her chest flared up. “Healer… I'm dying,” she whispered.

The other elves looked accusingly at the healer. “She's not!” The healer turned to the other elves and back to Amoniel. “You're not. You've only been cut.”

Amoniel looked down, if only to prove this healer wrong. She didn’t mind seeing blood, as she would be dying soon, anyway. Her shirt had been ripped open where she was sliced, and the cut there had already scabbed over. It was less than half an inch long, although she was sure it had been at least five inches earlier. It had felt like five inches. But it wasn't. She reassessed herself, and found that she actually didn't feel that bad. Just a bit shaky. She was covered in a lot of blood, but she was certain now that it wasn’t her own. She felt the irrepressible desire to bathe, now that she knew she wasn’t actually dying. She sat up, and the elves around pulled her to her feet. Seeing she was all right, the healer nodded and went on her way. “Just a bit overdramatic,” she could hear the healer telling the others as they went on their way.

Overdramatic? Maybe. But she _had_ thought she was going to die. _No more dramatic than having a panic attack in a cave_ , came the sudden thought, reminding Amoniel with a shocking jolt of Miriel. Oh god, what had happened to Miriel?

Amoniel tried to ignore the blood and death around her as she searched for her friend. It was nearly overwhelming, but she had to fight it to find Miriel. What had she said to Miriel in the cave? Right, deep breaths. In for four, hold for two, out for six. Pretend it was all fake. Nothing but a bunch of actors! …right. She had personally seen some of these people die, and those brief, disturbing memories wouldn’t let her concentrate. Breathe. Look. Miriel, in her silver coat, would be hard to miss.

No bright, silver cloaks were nearby, and that was a good sign. _It’s terribly unlikely that Miriel lived_ , said the sudden, unwelcome thought. _She had been fighting so hard, and with no armor._ Amoniel shook horrible images of Miriel being gutted and de-limbed out of her brain and kept searching. Everything around her made her feel queasy. _Don't pass out,_ don’t _pass out…_

A flash of silver flowing softly in the breeze on a hill above caught her eye. Amoniel felt the nausea return. It was so small, so familiar, that it had to be Miriel, laying slumped on the ground. Was that blood on the cloak? Amoniel’s thoughts returned to the first time she had seen Miriel, in the pit. She had had blood on her then, and she had been fine. She would be fine now. Amoniel ran over, ignoring the squish and crunch of the occasional body part she ran over. Her shoes would be fine. She needed new ones, anyway. She could burn these, as soon as she got help for Miriel. She reached the silvery cloak.

Miriel was draped over an ellon who had to have been her father. Amoniel had seen him around before, and there were few others Amoniel thought Miriel would choose to die over. God, she couldn’t be dead. She just couldn’t be. Amoniel turned her gaze away from Berion’s pale face and focused on her friend. Although Berion didn’t appear to be breathing, Miriel’s cloak was subtly rising and falling. Amoniel took a deep breath and slowly tilted Miriel onto her back. Her head rolled to one side, face nearly as pale as her father’s beside her. Amoniel’s breath began to come harder and faster as she looked closer at the smaller elf. The left side of Miriel’s tunic had been utterly shredded, exposing the long, deep gash into her ribs. It was still bleeding. _She’s dead, oh no, oh no…_ Amoniel swallowed her fear and bent closer to Miriel’s face. A light stream of air issued from her slightly open mouth. She _was_ breathing still, good.

“I-I-It’s okay Miriel, I’ll get you somewhere safe,” she told the unconscious elleth, her voice trembling. Taking a deep breath, Amoniel slowly slid her arms under Miriel’s back and knees, picking her up. She felt surprisingly light, hanging limply over her arms. Blood squished against Amoniel’s arms, and she nearly, unwillingly, dropped her friend. She clenched her teeth. _It’s nothing but sticky, red honey… In for four… Hold… Out for six. Again._

Amoniel took deep breaths and stood up, holding her friend in steeled arms. She had carried heavier things for much longer distances before. She would be fine. Nevermind the blood. She just had to carry her friend to a healer, or to anyone who could help. She glanced all around, unsure what to do. She could feel something warm spreading across her tunic, but she ignored it and kept looking wildly around. Where was the healer who had just been helping her?

“Help!” she yelled. “Help me!” Amoniel looked around, and glanced at Miriel again. Gosh, there was so much blood, too much blood… Amoniel screamed for help once again, trembling. She ran, unsure where she was running to, just to anyone that could help her. When was the last time she had felt Miriel take a breath? _She’s going to die in your arms,_ a voice in her head yelled, but the smaller elleth soon gave another raspy gasp. That gave Amoniel new strength to keep running.

Movement. It was a group of elves, moving towards the shining silver of Miriel’s cloak. Amoniel almost cried. She ran down the hill to meet them, practically sobbing. “Please, you have to help her, she’s dying, she can’t die, there’s so much blood…”

A couple of the ellyn lifted Miriel’s limp form out of Amoniel’s arms, and Amoniel dropped to her knees, breathing hard. She looked away as the healer knelt down to get a closer look at the wound. Someone touched her shoulder, trying to lead her away from Miriel.

“She will be all right, the healer will care for her.”

“No!” Amoniel pushed the ellon away and stumbled back to Miriel’s side. “ I-I don’t want to leave her, she needs me…” She grabbed Miriel’s motionless hand, shaking.

The healer pulled a cloth out of her bag and put pressure on Miriel’s side. Amoniel glanced at the ground, for a second unable to handle the blood. She had to stay strong, for Miriel. The healer held some kind of herb under Miriel's nose for a second, then tore off a strip of Miriel's tunic and tied the cloth to her side, tightly.

“Take her to the King’s dining hall. They are using it as a makeshift hospital,” she instructed two of the ellyn. “Tell them it is urgent, she is near death.” The elves quickly picked Miriel up, beginning to run to the hospital. Amoniel followed them numbly, as if Miriel would die if she was out of her sight.  

* * *

Miriel awoke to find herself in a crude bed, in a building she didn’t immediately recognize. Morning sunlight was shining into it through large, tall windows all around. She was surrounded by other white cots in orderly rows, each with a sleeping elf in it. Miriel realized that she was in the King’s great dining hall, which had been converted into a temporary hospital.

Amoniel appeared to be sleeping in a small chair by Miriel’s bed, partially wrapped in her cloak. Miriel was wearing a white gown, instead of the shabby, bloodstained items she had been wearing earlier. _What happened earlier, though?_ Miriel tried to sit up, but a sudden spasm of pain in her ribs prevented her from doing so. Looking down at herself, she saw that there were blood stained bandages wrapped around most of her chest, and her ankle had also been rebandaged and was resting propped up on a pillow. Noticing her efforts to rise, one of the healers walked over to where she lay. She recognized him from Tirrion’s company.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, checking the wrappings over her ribs.

“I am all right,” she answered, and suddenly the events of the night before flowed back to her. “The Lord Berion. He was, i-is he…” she struggled again to sit. Another wave of pain cut off her words, and the healer hushed her gently and held her down. Amoniel stirred, but didn’t quite wake.

The healer’s face fell slightly. “Berion is dead. My sincerest sympathies. I am very sorry I cannot do more to heal your spirit… for the time being, you must rest, so your physical injuries heal.”

Miriel sank back and lay still, only to be slowly pulled up to a sitting position so the healer could unwind the bandage. The healer’s words, however, had hurt her more than the herbs he was applying to the bruised gash on her side. Her father was really gone. She had wished that it had been a nightmare, or some kind of hallucination she had experienced because of blood loss. A thousand different ideas spun around in her head at the same time. Would she have to live alone? Would she even be able to bear staying in the home she had always lived with her father in?  It didn’t seem possible yet that he was not there. Maybe she would _have_ to live in Lothlorien. Would they accept her?

Within a couple of minutes, the healer finished caring for Miriel’s wound, and wrapped her ribs all around in fresh bandages before helping her lie down again. He wished her a good day, and moved on to the elf in the next bed over. She responded halfheartedly.

Staring at the tightly woven fibers of the fresh bandage, Miriel thought again of her father. She tried to picture him alive, but the only image she could remember was his pale face and the arrow in his chest. She felt sick at heart. She wished so much that she could have seen him alive one last time, could have watched him fight. He had lived through so many wars in his lifetime: the war of the last alliance, the battle of the five armies, perhaps more that he had not spoken to her of. And here he had been killed, within sight of his own home. Her conscience pricked at her as well. _If I had only listened to him, I would have been able to spend so much time with him before now. Maybe he would even have survived. We could have fought side by side…_

Her thoughts were interrupted by Amoniel’s face, now awake. She looked very concerned, and she had dark circles under her eyes. “When they brought you over here, you looked as dead as you can get. Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, Amoniel. I’m all right.” Miriel tried to smile, but it only made her sad, pale, face look even more miserable.

“Are… Are you really all right?”

Miriel sighed deeply and the fake smile faded quickly. She _was_ terrible, just awful. And it wasn’t because she was wounded. “My father died in battle…” She stared intently at her hands, swallowing hard to hold back tears. Saying it out loud seemed to bring her father’s death to a new level of reality. The silence was slightly awkward, but she couldn’t find anything else to say. Amoniel placed her hand on Miriel’s shoulder.

“Miriel, I am so sorry.” The smaller elf just nodded. Amoniel wanted to say more words, but there didn’t seem to be any right ones. She felt uncomfortable, like an intruder in Miriel’s pain. She didn’t know what to say. “Where’s Tirrion? Has he been in to see you while I’ve been asleep?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

Tirrion. His dying scream echoed through Miriel’s mind once more, as horrible images of the orc axe hitting his chest flew over her eyes. “No, I… I saw him, on the battlefield… he took a blow from an axe… he fell…” Miriel’s voice got quieter and her face crumpled in pain. “I’m stupid! So stupid! I wasted my chances, now he’s gone too!” she blurted.

“Wasted your chances? Where is he? What do you mean?” Amoniel sounded confused. The thought that Tirrion could have died in battle hadn’t even been a thought for her, not yet. Her brother? It wasn’t possible.

Miriel was at a loss for words. What _did_ she mean? She had always convinced herself that she did not love the ellon. She had always put his silky dark hair, grey eyes, and handsome frame aside, told herself he was not attractive. He had always been perfectly courteous, respectful and friendly, and she had always disregarded it. They were nothing more than childhood friends. What could she possibly have missed her chance to do? _So much,_ she told herself now.

Her mind drifted back through time, through the memories of her friend. They had played together as children, and had remained friends, even when Tirrion had begun to work as a guard. Even though the situation became slightly strained when the suggestion of marriage came up, their friendship stayed strong. Miriel thought of his comforting embraces and soft words, whenever she approached him with a problem. She could always talk with him about anything, even struggles of little consequence. He had always known exactly what to say.

Miriel thought of the long walks they had taken together, simply to talk, about his job, their families, things Miriel had seen in the forest, anything. Sometimes they had just walked in silence, enjoying the breeze, and the birds singing. Sometimes they had sang. Miriel couldn’t help but remember Tirrion’s smile that he would often give her on these walks. There had been something in his eyes when he looked at her that she had not noticed, or had chosen to ignore.

The walks had been sadly diminished as the evil crept closer, though. Tirrion worked much of the time, and Miriel spent almost the same amount of time hunting orcs in the forest. And something had changed, in their friendship. Tirrion always seemed like he had wanted to say something, but would not tell her what it was. Miriel wondered now if it had been something about the marriage. One time, he had started to say something about it, and she had shut him down immediately, wanting nothing to do with the matter. Now, his hurt face flashed vividly through her mind.

Even the thought of the dreaded marriage seemed welcome now. Miriel could not fathom not seeing her friend at all. Who would she talk to, and take walks with, without Tirrion and her father? Who would be there to lean on? Tirrion’s eyes jumped once again into Miriel’s mind, along with his gentle voice and comforting presence. That was gone now, and suddenly, she felt as if she had missed something important the whole time. Miriel wished bitterly that she could hug her friend, apologize for being cold, and, what else?

“I just think of, of the things I should have said. I was rude to him. I shouldn’t have _—_ I should have… Should have…”

“Should have what?” a male voice asked from behind them.

“Tirrion?” Miriel and Amoniel cried in unison. He was there, looking a little shaky perhaps, but there all the same.

“But the axe—I thought—you had—” a mixture of anger and relief choked Miriel and she couldn’t finish her thought. How had he survived? Was she seeing things? She gasped, but the pain in her chest kept her from gathering a full breath of air. Her vision clouded over slightly and she lay down lower on her pillow, suddenly feeling much weaker.

“It doesn’t seem like now is a good time, maybe I should come back later?” Tirrion’s voice sounded very distant. His face faded into view above Miriel, and she turned her head slightly towards him. “I’ll be back later.”

Miriel nodded and closed her eyes. Amoniel’s hands felt Miriel’s forehead and cheeks, worrying, but Miriel was already asleep, and didn't seem to have a fever. The healers had said she would be okay, with time and rest. She hoped that was true.

“Amoniel?”

She was startled to hear her name from her brother. He still resided in a place in her mind that wasn’t quite real, still the man she had imagined he had grown into, rather than the real Tirrion standing before her. “Y-yes?” She was nervous to talk to her brother, to face the conversations that had to be said.

“Will Miriel be all right?”

That was his main concern, of course. Amoniel had thought he was going to say something to her, about knowing her, but he was only concerned for Miriel. She felt a jealous urge to tell him of her injury sustained in battle, but that was laughable. It was only a scratch. Miriel had sustained the real wound. If anything, she should be concerned for him. Her little brother. “The healers said she would be. Tirrion, I…” She trailed off.

He waited expectantly, but Amoniel didn’t say anything else. “Would you like to take a walk with me?”

“I c-can’t leave Miriel, she shouldn’t wake alone―”

“She’s stronger than you would think, that one.”

Amoniel laughed, just a small sound. “Oh, I know.”  
“Then let’s walk.” Tirrion extended a hand, which Amoniel took. Her brother, finally reunited with his sister. Both glanced back at Miriel before finally shutting the door behind them.

 

Amoniel was walking outside, Tirrion by her side. She could see a thick bandage under his shirt, probably from the battle. She wondered if it was serious, but didn’t know if it was her place to ask. Her brother. The son of an elf lord. What was she to him? They walked side by side, without speaking, for a long time. Tirrion stopped under a particularly large willow, facing away from her. In that moment, she knew. He had brought her out here because he knew she was his disappointment of a sister.

“I’m sorry…” Amoniel’s voice sounded small and weak. She lowered her head. She hadn’t seen her brother in so many years, not since he was little more than a baby. He had changed a lot, and so had she. Who knows what he thought of her? He had heard nothing but negativity from their parents, no doubt. “Are you angry with me?”

Before Amoniel knew what was happening, Tirrion had turned around and thrown his arms around her. He was tall, and his arms were large and strong. His embrace felt similar to what Amoniel could remember her father’s feeling like. He smelled like her father, and this more than anything brought bitter, stinging tears to her eyes. She swallowed them, desperately.

“No, no, not at all, never.” Tirrion drew back, and rested his hands on his sister’s shoulders. He saw the tears threatening to spill in her eyes, and watched them blur through tears of his own. “Look Amoniel, I know I wasn’t very old when… everything happened, but I have missed you ever since. Nothing ever felt right once you were gone. We all miss you. Nana and Ada want you back. They love you. I love you too, _muinthel nίn_ , so much.”

Now, Amoniel did begin to cry. “Did they tell you I was nothing more than a pathetic thief who couldn’t control herself? Did they tell you the King himself kicked me out?” Her frustration with herself and her family was spilling out, and she couldn’t stop it. The long years away from home had not brought closure, only pain that had long been pushed aside.

“Amoniel…” Tirrion watched his older sister angrily wipe tears from her eyes. He grabbed her hands. “Don’t. I know about your past. I’ve heard many stories about you.”  
“And I have been able to hear exactly nothing of you. For years, I didn’t know whether you were even alive―”

Tirrion cut her off. “Hush. Your leaving was not your fault. You couldn’t help yourself; Nana and Ada keep saying this. They tell me what a loving daughter and sister you were. They tell me how skilled you were with your hands, yes, by stealing, but also in more handy ways. They say you used to make daisy chains. They say you made me a bracelet, once, but they lost it when you left. They say… They say they wished you could come back.”

Amoniel was crying now. She was supposed to be strong for her baby brother, but she couldn’t even do that. Here she was, breaking down in front of him. “But I cannot return, right? That is the catch. Just yesterday, on the battlefield, I knocked the King over! I pushed him, and I fell on top of him. If he knew I was here… It just won’t work out, Tirrion. I have to leave, again. I cannot stay, I have to get out―”

“Amoniel, it’s been years. Even the King cannot retain a grudge for this long. If we just clean you up, and take you in again―”

“You can’t, don’t you see, you can’t, you can’t―”

“We _will_ , Amo―”

“We can’t―”

“ _Amoniel!_ ” Tirrion yanked Amoniel into his arms, stifling her cries against his shoulder. “We will, all right? You will be fine. Please, come home. Please. You’re not the only one who’s spent the years wondering if their sibling was dead. Please, _muinthel nίn_ , please come home.” Tirrion sobbed, and Amoniel looked up at him.

“I would do anything for you, _gwein hanar nín_ ,” Amoniel cried. “I have missed you, so much. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Then come home, Amoniel, please.”

Amoniel stared into her brother’s pleading eyes. “I will. For you. My brother.” She felt a lurch in her stomach. Would her parents really want her back? Would Tirrion even like her if he really, truly knew her?

“It will be fine. Come. The sooner we go, the sooner you will realize I am right.”

_I hope so._ Amoniel could not speak her thoughts aloud, so she simply took Tirrion’s hand and allowed him to lead her.

 

The path home gradually brought back more and more memories for Amoniel. She recalled a few distinct landmarks, a few old haunts. Here, the dirt was loose enough for the best digging. Here, her favorite tree as a child, now grown far larger than she could have ever pictured then. Here, the aging home of Pirindis, who gave all the children sweet foods if they gave her flowers. Amoniel longed to pick a few daffodils and knock on the door, but kept holding Tirrion’s hand nervously. She didn’t want to stop until it was all over. As they grew closer to home, Tirrion was guiding her less and less. When they were close enough to see her house, ( _our house_ , she reminded herself) she paused. Tirrion kept walking for a second, and her hand slipped out of his.

“Amoniel?”

“Are you certain… this will be okay? I could always go back and stay with Miriel―”

Tirrion grabbed her hand again and squeezed, cutting off Amoniel’s words. “I have heard nothing my entire life but regretful stories of letting you leave. I have wanted nothing for so long but to really meet you. There is no way I am letting you leave again. Come home, _muinthel_.”

Amoniel took a hesitant step forward. Tirrion allowed her to lead, now, holding on to her hand to provide support. She was finally coming home.

Amoniel stepped up to the door and knocked, as she had always done, loudly. Faltering slightly, she stepped back and stood half behind Tirrion, squeezing his hand hard. The door was opened by their mother, Feniel.

“Tirrion! I’m so glad to that you are out of the hospital. When your father told me you had been wounded, I wanted to visit, but then…” Her eyes strayed behind Tirrion, and the words on her tongue faded away. She stared in shock at the figure, her lips trembling slightly. It couldn't be. “Amoniel, _henig nín_ …”

“Nana,” Amoniel choked, and burst into tears. She maintained a death grip on Tirrion’s arm. Her mother put a hand over her mouth in shock. Was she happy, shocked, or angry? Amoniel’s tears began to choke her and she took a deep breath. “I know I was so, so stupid as a child, but I promise you,” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry. I-I’m so sorry.”

Her mother stood, eyes darting from Tirrion to Amoniel. Tirrion pushed Amoniel in front of him, and Feniel stared at her daughter, trying to overlap her mental image of Amoniel with the elf before her. Alive. She was alive. She was, “So beautiful.” Feniel startled even herself by speaking, but gained her composure again. “Amoniel,” she spoke softly, gently. “You’ve grown so much.” She opened her arms, beginning to cry as well.

Amoniel flew into her mother's open  arms and buried her face in her shoulder. “I’ve missed you so much!” she sobbed.

“Oh, Amoniel, I am so glad! Amoniel,” Feniel’s voice cracked. Her daughter was taller, now. Unfamiliar but still recognizable. She pulled her even tighter, memorizing the feeling of hugging her daughter again. “When you were exiled, we, we thought we would never see you again. How is it that you have returned?” She pulled back, staring into her daughter’s eyes, memorizing her face. She wiped her daughter’s tears away so gently, so oddly familiar, that Amoniel only began to cry harder. “You are so beautiful, still.”

“I… I… I found my way here, but there were orcs, and the fighting, and I was watching, I was in it, I came back in…” Amoniel was crying too hard to tell her story, tripping over herself. Feniel wrapped an arm around her and led her inside, Tirrion grabbing her hand again on the way in. Home.

 

Amoniel barely knew where to begin telling her mother of her life since she had left. Her mother made sandwiches, which were quickly devoured. Amoniel and Tirrion did not realize how hungry they had been. Feniel made strong tea after they had eaten and put five spoonfuls of sugar in it, placing it with shaking hands before her daughter. Amoniel didn’t have the heart to tell her that she couldn’t possibly drink that much sugar anymore, but the fact that Feniel had remembered made her feel like sobbing again. They were both trying to recall how, possibly, the other could have changed so much and still been so familiar. Tirrion sipped his tea, looking back and forth between the two of them. Amoniel stared at her cup for a moment, swirling the sugar-loaded liquid inside. Her voice was soft, uncertain.

“Where’s father?”

“He remained on the battlefield, to… Clean up.” Feniel frowned slightly at the thought. Her face was still red from crying, but she had mostly regained her composure. Her child, who had so long been gone, was back.

“Will he―” Amoniel’s voice cracked again, and she cleared her throat. “Will he be back soon?” _Hopefully not covered in blood._ Amoniel shivered at the thought and took a sip of her tea. Despite all the sugar, it was reviving.

“Yes, honey.” _Honey._ She couldn’t remember the last time she had been able to say that to Amoniel.

Tirrion leaned forward in his chair. “So, are we going to talk?”

“Should we, should we save it until A-Ada gets home?” Amoniel blushed and drank more tea. “So I don’t have to tell you everything twice, I mean.”

“Does Thranduil know you are back?” Feniel’s stare was piercing, the stare she remembered giving Amoniel many times in her life. She softened her look a bit, regretfully. She had been so hard on Amoniel, and there were still many difficult times ahead of them. Certainly there would be if the King didn’t accept Amoniel’s return.

Amoniel recalled running full tilt into the King in battle. “Maybe… We should save that, as well. For later.”

A silence fell, in which Amoniel hiccuped a few times and wiped away her last tears. As she was doing so, she looked at Feniel and Tirrion sitting there, at her family’s old table, and a fresh wave of water flowed into her eyes. She blinked them away, but they slid down her cheeks anyway. She took a sip of tea again. “I-I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I have been gone for so long…”

Her mother moved a chair closer so she could rub her daughter’s back. “It’s all right, honey. You’re back now. And no matter what, I will let you stay here. No matter what.” _Even if the King doesn’t like it,_ she added, silently. Amoniel had been gone too long. “Are you still…”

Feniel didn’t have to finish the question. Amoniel felt cold and hot pulse through her in waves. “Stealing?” she said softly, harshly. She was suddenly aware of how tired she was, having slept in a chair watching over Miriel for most of the last night. A few more tears fell down her cheeks, and she angrily wiped them away.

Tirrion looked mortified, and Feniel flushed. “I’m sorry, Amoniel, _henig_ , I did not mean to imply, I just, I need to know! If you are to stay here, and I to protect you, then I need to know.”

Amoniel considered asking her mother what gave her the right. Who told Feniel she needed to be protected? Amoniel bristled, and then sighed. “No. I don’t do that anymore,” she lied.

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad! We told you, you could beat this! Oh, Amoniel!” Feniel hugged Amoniel intensely.

Amoniel hesitantly returned the hug. _Beat this? I doubt I could go a day without taking something again…_ Even now, in her pocket jangled a few possessions of the healers.

Tirrion also joined the hug. “That is great news! My sister… Home, and only for the better!”

Amoniel began to feel guilty. She pulled away from the hug. “I have not slept well. It is very good to see you again, and I love you both so much, but I think I should return to Miriel for now. You understand, it’s not that I am unhappy, it’s just… Miriel is not well—”

Amoniel's excuses were interrupted as Tunnor, her father, entered the house. He had spent the night and part of the morning cleaning up the battlefield, as had all the elves who could still stand after the battle. He looked exhausted and distraught, and saw Tirrion and his wife first, next to another elf at the table.

“Tirrion, my son, you're here.” His voice sounded tired and hoarse. “I was told that you had been wounded. Are you all right?”

“I am fine, Ada.” Tirrion glanced down at his chest, suddenly reminded by pain of his wounds. He massaged his chest gently, and Tunnor saw the unknown elf and his wife gain a concerned expression.

“Good.” Tunnor was too exhausted to ask more at that instant. Feniel appeared to have something to say, but she wasn’t speaking, so Tunnor continued. “Too many good elves were killed yesterday,” he sighed, shrugging off his heavy cloak. His armor underneath was stained and dirty. “Berion was among the dead, along with Amathon,” he choked slightly on Berion’s name. Tirrion nodded solemnly. Tunnor walked to the table and dropped into a chair heavily. He turned to Amoniel. “I haven’t seen you arou—”

Suddenly, he froze. This elf looked entirely too familiar. He knew her. He had known her. It couldn’t be!

“Ada,” Amoniel breathed. “I-I’m back. I’m home.”

Tunnor blinked, shook his head, looked at his wife in disbelief, and was shattered by her grin. It _couldn’t_ be! “Amoniel? You’re really here?”

“I am.”

Feniel reached across the table and took both Amoniel’s and Tunnor’s hands. “She’s home. She doesn’t steal anymore, hun, she says she’s going to tell us how she got back―”

They were interrupted once again by a knock at the door. Tunnor, dazed, stood and opened the door. This time, it was Hador. Amoniel recognized him as the elf she had ridden with back to Mirkwood.

“I am sorry if I am interrupting you,” he said sheepishly, noting Tunnor’s distant expression. “I heard from the healers that Tirrion had come home for a while.” Hador turned to his friend. “I saw you… Get hit, and when I heard you were still alive, I wanted to know how you were.” His gaze shifted over to Amoniel, and a slight smile played across his face. “I also heard you carried Miriel to the healers, Amoniel.”

Tunnor’s mouth opened, and he closed it again. “How many people know you are here, Amoniel?”

Feniel finally spoke. “It doesn’t matter. She’s staying.”

Tunnor turned to her, processing what she was saying. “Of course she’s staying! She’s our daughter. And she doesn’t steal anymore…” He trailed off.

“Your daughter!” Hador spoke, and the others faced him. “Sorry, I do not mean to intrude. I just, I suspected, she looks so much like Tirrion. A random elf with Miriel in the forest named Amoniel? I didn’t think it was my place to say anything, but I am glad she has come home.” He smiled at Amoniel again, bowing slightly. “I have heard so much about you. I am pleased to have helped you return home.”

“You were very kind, Hador,” Amoniel replied. She didn’t know what else to say, and, apparently neither did anyone else. The silence was tense.

“I believe I should come back later.”

“I’ll find you tomorrow,” Tirrion replied as Hador showed himself out.

Amoniel muttered a small goodbye, and silence fell again.

Tirrion rested his head on his hand and his elbow on the table. The pain in his chest had increased and he suddenly felt exhausted. Feniel was the first to notice.

“Tirrion, did the healers say you could come home?” Feniel asked her son gently.

“N-no.” Tirrion gave his mother a winning grin, which was broken by a wince. Feniel gave him a concerned, motherly face.

“I can walk him back to the hall they are using as a hospital,” Amoniel offered, meekly. “I would like to check on Miriel again, anyways.”

“No,” Tunnor suddenly spoke. “Amoniel… You just came home. Can't you stay? Can't you talk to us?”

“Ada…” Amoniel hesitated, half rising from her chair. She made up her mind and walked to her father, hugging him. He might have been covered in dirt and blood, but, underneath, he smelled the same. Familiar. Amoniel lost her train of thought for just a moment, then remembered poor Miriel sleeping, alone, in recovery. “You are so important to me. And I am glad to be back. But, Miriel, she's, well, she's important to me, as well. Her father… isn't around.” Amoniel pulled away, her father’s grip tightening briefly before letting go. She turned, half-addressing everyone in the room. “The healers say she isn't quite stable, yet. I need to be there for her. I need to go.”

“Amoniel,” Tunnor grabbed her hand, hugged her again. “Amoniel. Amoniel.” He didn't appear to be able to say what he wanted to, and his voice caught in his throat. The loss of Berion, who had been an old friend, and the sudden gain of his daughter, was too much.

“We could come with you,” Feniel squeezed her son's hand at the table, but faced Amoniel.

“Yes,” Tunnor said, fiercely. His daughter couldn't leave his side again; he wouldn't be able to take it. Not so soon after getting her back.

Tirrion gave his parents a tired look. “Ada, are you sure you should come? You look like you haven't slept since the fight.”

“I'm fine,” Tunnor stumbled and grabbed the door frame. He had not had time to sleep in several days, having been in constant council meetings since before the fight with the orcs and not having slept since, either. Seeing so many friends dead had worn his emotions down to the bone. “Just a little tired, is all, I'm fine.”

Feniel stood and guided her husband to a chair. “You're not fine. You need rest, _meleth nín_. You cannot stay up long enough to listen to Amoniel, anyway. I will go with them to see our dear Miriel while you rest up.”

“I can rest at the hospital. I'm fine. This is our _daughter_ , Feniel. I can't let her go… Not again.”

“I'll be back, Ada,” Amoniel timidly put her hand on his shoulder. “Please, you need to rest.”

Tunnor placed his hand over his daughter’s. He gripped it tight, saying nothing. Tirrion placed his hand on his father’s arm as well. “We will be back, Ada.”

“I will watch after them.” Feniel gently placed her hand on her husband’s face. “Sleep, Tunnor.”

Tunnor said nothing for a moment longer, enjoying the feeling of knowing his family was back together. Amoniel kneeled in front of him. “Ada?”

Tunnor stood, and so did everyone else. He almost fell back into his chair, and the others supported him. Finally, reluctantly, he spoke. “Fine,” he whispered. “All right. I'll sleep. But,” he grasped Amoniel by the shoulders. “Come home.”

“I will, Ada. We all will.”

Satisfied, Tunnor gave Amoniel another hug, hugged Tirrion, kissed his wife, hugged Amoniel one last time, and stumbled off to bed to a chorus of goodnights and I love yous.

Feniel stared after him until their bedroom door closed, brows furrowed in worry. She knew how much Berion had meant to Tunnor, how devastating the loss was. She could only imagine how Miriel must be feeling now… Tirrion took a step towards the door and leaned heavily on Amoniel. She supported him gratefully, happy to finally fill the role of the big sister. She threw Tirrion's arm over her shoulders to better support him. “Come on, let's go, Nana.”

“Let me help you, Amoniel!” Feniel put Tirrion’s other arm over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Amoniel smiled.

The door shut, and Tunnor’s broken sob was heard by no one. The curtains in the bedroom were shut tight, and the dark let in unwanted memories. If only he could have been closer to Berion during the fight… If only he hadn’t have had to be the one to deal with Berion’s body. If only Amoniel could have been home years ago… If only, the refrain that played in his mind until sleep took him.

For the rest, the walk to the hospital was a more even melting pot of emotions. Amoniel felt bittersweet longing above all, to fill this role forever, next to her family. Wanted. Needed. There was little speaking, as all of them were in various stages of exhaustion. Tirrion needed a break halfway there, and they let him rest by the side of the road. Amoniel stooped to pick a few dandelions that stood by the path. Feniel perked up as she watched Amoniel make the flowers disappear inside her cloak. “You still put flowers in your pockets?”

Amoniel looked up in surprise. “Have I really done that since I was a child?”

Tirrion nodded. “It's one of the things Nana has not stopped talking about since…”

“Since I was exiled,” Amoniel finished.

Feniel nodded. “Ever since you were a baby. Do you remember? I told you over and over again to put them in a vase, but they always went into your pockets. I would pull wilted flowers out of all your pockets before washing your clothes.”

Amoniel recalled a distant childhood argument she and her mother had had. Her mother angrily telling her that if she kept leaving things in her pockets, she could do her own laundry. She had yelled, her mother had cried, she had cried. But did she begin doing her own laundry then, or later? She couldn't remember. “Yes,” she said, calmly, serenely. “I promise to remove them this time.”

Feniel laughed, not catching on to her daughter’s emotional turmoil. “Oh, honey, that is the farthest thing from my mind. I don't mind if you leave a hundred flowers in your pockets. It only matters that I won't find other people's items in them, not anymore.”

Amoniel’s eyes darted guiltily over to meet Tirrion’s unintentionally. He cocked his head, but didn't speak. She whipped her eyes back to her mother’s. “Of course not. I told you, I don't do that anymore.”

Feniel’s smile was bright. She picked a small bloom herself and placed it gently in her daughter’s hair. “I missed you, _sellig nín_.”

“I have missed you, too.” Amoniel touched the flower in her hair with a gentle smile, but her eyes darted over to meet Tirrion’s again. His asked for answers she couldn't give, yet, so she looked away. “We had better start moving again. Tirrion shouldn't be away for too long.”

“Yes, of course.” Feniel and Amoniel helped Tirrion stand again. The pain in his chest was increasing, though the brief rest had helped.

Again, they spoke little, but Feniel kept glancing at her daughter and grinning. Amoniel grinned back, just a little forced. Tirrion noticed, but kept his silence. Amoniel would tell him soon, he was certain.

They passed a house and Amoniel gasped quietly. Her intuition whacked her upside the head and shook her. _Please, not now._ Amoniel nodded towards the house, without really meaning to, and spoke before she could stop herself. “Who lives there?”

Feniel gave her a strange look. “Calarphen, and her husband,” was all she said.

“She just commissioned Faelon for an expensive bracelet,” Tirrion explained further. “She had some sort of rare, expensive jewel she wanted to wear. That's all the other elves have been saying about her.”

Amoniel’s fingers twitched. She patted all of her pockets surreptitiously and again cursed the orcs for stealing her bag. She needed a new one, although she had had the old one for so long she doubted if she could get used to something else.

Feniel saw Amoniel’s twitch. She knew what to look for, after years of trying to stop Amoniel’s thieving habits. “Why did you ask?” The tone was not questioning.

Amoniel noticed the chill in her mom's tone. Tirrion evidently did as well, as his posture stiffened slightly. “I just couldn't remember, that's all.”

“Why that house specifically? Much has changed since you left, Amoniel. Many of these houses are different. Why that one?”

Amoniel’s fingers twitched again. She really needed a bag, but making sure the items in her pockets were still secure would have to do, for now. “I don't know, Nana.”

Tirrion spoke. “Amoniel has already said she stopped stealing. It was nothing more than coincidence, maybe even old habit. Right, Amoniel?”

Amoniel was certain Tirrion had felt her twitch when he said the word “stealing.” “Of course. Nothing more. I truly don't thieve anymore.” Her fingers itched intensely.

“Of course not. You wouldn't lie to us so soon after coming home. Sorry if my tone was a little sharp.” Feniel sounded unconvinced.

Amoniel felt a small bit of old, familiar anger rise in her. _I can't control it, don't you see! Didn't you ever see!_ She felt tears pool in her eyes and swallowed hard. “It's all right, Nana.”

The journey continued in silence, Amoniel’s fingers itching incessantly. ****


	9. Chapter 9

“There you are.” The healer did not seem pleased that Tirrion had been out of bed for such a long time. Amoniel noticed with concern that Tirrion stumbled a bit as the healer helped him back to bed. Feniel followed, questioning the healer intently about the extent of her son's injuries. Tirrion seemed a little embarrassed, but Amoniel could tell he truly was grateful to have his mother there. She hoped he was just as grateful to see her there.

The healer soon forced Feniel and Amoniel to leave so he could heal Tirrion in peace. “You may return when he's sleeping,” he told them before shooing them away.

“Where is Miriel?” Feniel asked Amoniel in the temporary silence that followed. Both had been simply walking aimlessly in the direction the healer had shooed them.

“Her bed is towards the back,” she pointed.

They both walked over to her, and Amoniel sat down next to her friend once again, studying her friend’s face. She was sleeping, and breathing better than she had been before, it seemed. Her face was still very pale, and, when Amoniel grabbed her hand, her small fingers were cold. Amoniel recalled the fight against the orcs with a surge of anger against herself. She had hardly been able to defend herself. It should have been her lying there, grievously wounded. Miriel was a skilled fighter, she was a good person, and she didn't deserve any of this. She would already have a hard time without her father; it would be terrible for her to have to deal with being bedridden as well.

Amoniel's thoughts were interrupted by her mother, motioning for her to stand. The healer had stopped by Miriel's bed.

“Sorry.” Amoniel stood awkwardly, and watched the healer examine her friend. “She will be all right, won't she?”

“The worst is past, and her wounds should recover with time.” The healer was feeling Miriel's pulse. “She may have some trouble with her ankle that was broken, though. It seems to have healed improperly.”

Amoniel watched as the healer began to change the bandage on Miriel’s ankle, feeling guilty. She hoped her actions wouldn’t cost Miriel her mobility. “Will she be bedridden long?”

“She will until the axe wound heals over, and then she should be able to move around again,” the healer replied. Amoniel’s spirits rose, then fell as a slight frown crossed the healer’s face. “There is one other thing.”

“What is it?” Amoniel and her mother spoke at the same time.

“I perceive that her spirit has been deeply wounded. That is almost more concerning… if her spirit cannot recover, her body will not either. And she will fade away.” The healer sighed, and her voice softened. “She was very close to her father, was she not?”

“Yes, she was, I think.”

“She was.” Feniel's voice was soft, and she suddenly looked sad. “When Feleth died… Berion promised her and himself that he would care for Miriel with all of his strength. He loved Miriel more than life. I think she reminded him much of his wife.” Feniel paused and wiped her eyes. “Miriel loved him too… This will be terrible for her… ” She seemed to want to say more, but couldn't.

Amoniel placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “She will be all right. Tirrion and I are here for her…  As is her family… in Lorien… I’m sorry, I haven’t been back long. I’m sure Miriel has many friends here?”

Feniel nodded, staring at Miriel’s sleeping face. “We will, of course, support her. She’s practically part of our family already.”

The healer finished re-bandaging Miriel’s ankle, the sweet smell coming off the bandages filling the surrounding area. “That’s good. She’s going to need her support system in the coming days. For now, though, we should let her rest.” The healer nodded goodbye and moved on to another bed.

Amoniel gently brushed some hair out of Miriel’s face. She realized her hands were shaking, just a little. Feniel took her daughter’s hands in her own. “You should get some sleep.”

“I need to watch Miriel. I already left her alone long enough. I promised I would see her home…”

“You’re exhausted, hun. Miriel is home. She’s back, amongst the elves. You should be home, too. You’ve been watching Miriel this whole time; it’s not healthy.”

Amoniel paused a moment, staring at Miriel. “She can’t wake up alone,” she said, half-heartedly.

“She won’t be alone. The healers are here, and Tirrion will most likely come see her, when they let him get up again. You need to rest.”

“I should rest…” Amoniel pulled the covers around Miriel closer and turned away. “Let’s go home, then.”

Feniel followed her daughter out the huge doors of the dining hall. Amoniel seemed to be walking faster than usual, and Feniel thought she heard her daughter sniffing. She caught up, grabbing Amoniel by her shoulder. “Honey? Are you okay?”

Amoniel stopped walking, rubbing her eyes. “This is all my fault. All of it. Why did I come back…”

“You can’t blame yourself for Berion, hun. Or Miriel. You couldn’t control what was going to happen with the orcs; it wasn’t your fault she was wounded.”

Amoniel began to cry in earnest. “It’s my fault, Nana, all mine. I’m the reason Miriel has been missing. I’m the reason her ankle is broken. I’m the reason she didn’t see her father one last time,” she choked.

Feniel put her arms around Amoniel’s shoulders and gently guided her to the side of the road, sitting in the grassy shade next to the hospital. “What do you mean? What― What do you mean?”

Amoniel pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in her hands. “Nana, I have a confession.”

“You can tell me anything, sweetheart,” Feniel stroked Amoniel’s hair.

Amoniel groaned. “It’s a long story. I didn’t mean for it to… to happen. I was just blind; I just needed some money. I…”

“Honey, are you… Stealing? Again?”

Amoniel sobbed. She said nothing for a long time. Eventually, she whispered, “…no. Not now, not after what happened. I can’t anymore.” She bit back the truth, shamefully. Some things she felt she still had to keep from her mother, to avoid the fights. To avoid leaving, again. Her chest hurt, and she cried.

“What happened? Amoniel? You can talk to me, please,” Feniel pleaded.

“It’s really a long story, Nana. I don’t know if you want to hear it…”

“Please. I do. Tell me, _melleth_.”

Amoniel pulled her knees closer. Slowly, she lifted her head, but stared at some daisies growing in the grass. They gently waved in the wind, and she tracked their motion. Her sobs choked her words, but her voice slowly grew. “I was tracking the orcs. They were after something expensive, a ring. That’s how it began.”

Amoniel wove her tale as the sun reached its peak and fell. She abbreviated the story, her talks with Miriel,  the long days and nights spent as a hostage and then fleeing the orcs. After she got past the initial kidnapping of Miriel, the words seemed to flow better. When she spoke of escaping from the cave, she gently reached out and picked a few daisies. Automatically, she began to splice them together. She added more, building a flower crown as she talked. When she got to the battle with the orcs, she got quiet again. The silence stretched as she picked another daisy.

“You fought in the battle? With all the blood?” Feniel didn’t sound mad, or disappointed. In fact, she sounded interested in the story, sympathetic. There was even a hint of pride in her tone.

“Well, no,” Amoniel was surprised. She wasn’t sure how her mom was going to take the story, but she seemed to be handling it well. “I got… a lot of blood on me… in the very beginning. And I ran. I got barely cut later, and I, um, I passed out.”

Feniel snorted. “Yes. You were always like that. Do you remember, when you were a kid, and you,” she laughed, “you, you thought you got cut but you had just, just gotten some berry juice smeared on you?”

Amoniel laughed as well. “It was the same sort of situation. It was the same,” she laughed harder.

Soon, she and Feniel were laughing hard together, muttering the word, “berries,” or “juice,” every once in a while. This bonding laughter eventually tapered off. Amoniel giggled a few more times, picking a last batch of daisies. Feniel picked one and placed it in her daughter’s hair. “Oh, honey, we’ve all made poor decisions in our lives. I can’t say your story started off… admirably. But you can’t put all the blame on yourself. You were taken, too. You promised to bring her home, and you did. You stayed by her side in the hospital, even though you were… are… exiled. You came home, finally, after all these years. And we won’t let you leave again.”

“Thanks, Nana,” Amoniel said, softly, unconvinced. She still felt guilty, knew she had done wrong.

Feniel knew her daughter still felt bad, and cast around for something to say. The silence stretched, in which Amoniel finished her flower crown and pulled the daisies into a more pleasing arrangement. “What happened after the battle? Tirrion and Miriel fought in it, right?”

“Well, I wasn’t… awake… for much of the fight. I didn’t see Tirrion. Mostly, I saw Miriel in the distance, by the city. I passed out fairly early on.” She left out the part where she ran into the King, knocking him over. “When I woke, the fight was over. I didn’t know what was going on, whether I was alive or dead. A healer had come by and realized that, well, nothing was wrong with me,” she blushed, and Feniel chuckled. “So I remembered Miriel, watching her fight viciously. She must have taken out almost fifteen orcs by herself before I even lost consciousness. But I could not remember seeing what had happened to her.

“I searched for her amongst the dead. I was so focused on Miriel, trying to ignore the blood, I had forgotten anyone and everyone else since the battle began. I saw her cloak in the distance, shining silver, and I ran over to help her. She was… on Berion. She was bleeding everywhere, so much so that I thought she was dead at first. I picked her up, and I ran for a healer. I was terrified, and there was no one around. It felt like ages before someone finally arrived. And they tried to take her away from me, but I refused to leave Miriel’s side. I think I got in their way, actually,” Amoniel chuckled. “I wasn't about to leave Miriel. The healers gave me some fresh clothes so I wouldn't have to wear my… bloodstained clothes. My cloak was fine, so I slept in it on the chair by her bed. And I stayed here, by her side, until Tirrion found me. He brought me to you, and I guess that's everything all caught up…”

Feniel’s eyes lit up, and she grabbed Amoniel's hands. “Oh honey, I'm so proud of you. You did all that for Miriel, Amoniel, you saved her life! Who knows when the healers would have found her. If you hadn't have been there, if you hadn't set things in motion, who knows what would have happened?”

Amoniel remained quiet for a moment. “Berion might still be alive. Or, at least, have seen his daughter again before he died.”

“Or, Miriel would have been killed by spiders. Or orcs. Or in battle. Amoniel, honey, you did what's right, in the end. And that's what counts.”

“Nana… thank you. For listening. I really do love you. I hope… I hope I can stay here.” She fiddled with the flower crown before being pulled into a hug.

“Amoniel, you don't steal anymore. The King probably wouldn't recognize you even if he saw you. Your father and I will make sure you stay, no matter what.”

Amoniel recalled the fight, recalled the King briefly recognizing her. She hoped he wouldn't believe it was really her. She hoped she could, actually, keep her thieving habits from her mother. She vaguely made a noise of agreement.

“Come on, Amoniel. Let's go home. It's time.” Feniel stood and extended a hand, pulling her daughter to her feet.

“Wait, before we go, I have to do something.” Amoniel twisted the flower crown in her hands. “Please.”

“Of course, hun.” Feniel watched as Amoniel entered the dining hall turned hospital yet again.

Amoniel ran to Miriel’s bed, making sure she was still sleeping peacefully. “Good thing you don't move much in your sleep, _mellon nín_.” She placed the flower crown carefully on Miriel’s head, making sure none of the daisies were being crushed. The flowers framed her face well, and she looked pretty and peaceful, despite the fact that she was pale. Amoniel gave them one last adjustment and whispered goodbye. On her way out, she passed by Tirrion’s bed, wanting to grab his hand and stay until he could go home. She still couldn’t quite believe he was really there… Instead, she forced herself to leave the hospital again, meeting up with her mother. They left together, side by side.

 

Miriel woke up when the healer made her rounds yet again. The room was full of gentle afternoon light, although nothing had really seemed to change since she had woken up before. Healers were still moving around here and there, the other elves were still asleep in their beds. A few were standing or walking around, slowly. Miriel noticed that she felt less lightheaded, and it was easier to breathe. As her mind continued to clear, she noticed warmth and pressure around her hand: someone was holding it, tightly. Miriel squeezed back involuntarily.

“Are you all right, Miriel?”

The soft voice startled Miriel and she turned her head. Tirrion was sitting next to her bed, where Amoniel had been when she had fallen asleep. She felt something shift on her head, and when she reached up with a wince, she found a crown of daisies resting there. _Amoniel's work, no doubt._

“I—I think so,” she said breathlessly. “Where's Amoniel?”

“She must have gone home, I haven't seen her,” Tirrion replied.

“That's probably good… She was here a long time.” Miriel sounded tired, and slightly distant. She turned her head slowly and painfully towards Tirrion, noticing the bandages around his chest. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Miriel. Don't worry about me.” He looked down at her hand, which he was now holding with both of his. He squeezed it slightly. “Miriel? I heard about your father.”

The hand in Tirrion’s stayed limp, but the other balled itself into a fist.  “Right…” she whispered.

“I'm so sorry, Miriel… I don't know what  to say…”

Miriel didn't say anything, just nodded. She wished Tirrion would stop talking. Thinking about her father was too painful. He felt the silence was awkward, and cast around for something new to say.

“My mother came to see you as well, but I believe she left earlier. Probably with Amoniel.”

Miriel nodded again. Her eyes were pointed towards her blanket, and the hand that Tirrion was holding stayed limp.

“Can I do anything for you? I-I just want to help…” Tirrion's voice trailed off.

Miriel gave a noncommittal sound.

“Anything I can do…”

“Could—could you please go away?” Miriel didn't mean to be rude, but she didn't think she could take it if Tirrion said anything else. Even those six words were a struggle. “I-I’m sorry, I am just…. in pain,” she forced herself to say.

“Oh… Sure. If you want me to. I will. Do you, u-uh, need the healer?”

“No… Thanks.”

Tirrion sounded disappointed, but he didn't move. Miriel didn't move either. After a few seconds, he let go of her hand. “Okay. Sorry, Miriel. I'll go. Goodbye, then.”

Miriel watched him go, gently rubbing the hand he had been holding. She wanted him to come back, but she didn't want him to keep talking to her. His presence and his hand holding hers has comforting, but she just didn't want to speak. She wondered when Amoniel was coming back, but realized Amoniel would probably talk incessantly as well. That sounded exhausting. She closed her eyes again, wishing everything would just go away.

A few minutes later, the healer touched her shoulder, holding a cup of tea. The steam curling off of it smelled pleasant, and refreshed Miriel’s mind. “This will help ease the pain,” the healer told her, helping her sit up. Miriel nodded and sipped at the tea, head turned towards the door. _I said I didn’t need the healer…_

 

Feniel had brought Amoniel home to a quiet house. Tunnor was sleeping when they softly opened the door, so they sat down at the kitchen table to speak in low voices and catch up. Feniel was telling Amoniel of her civilian life raising Tirrion and baking bread, of the many achievements of Tunnor, and details of Tirrion’s life. Amoniel was amazed at how much had passed since she left, and she was hesitant to recount her end of the story. She told her mother of learning to live on her own, how she made several friends in several unlikely places. While Feniel had gone into great detail as the long hours passed, Amoniel made short work of her own tale. She mentioned living with Avaron very briefly, although she never mentioned his name or where he lived. When Feniel pressed her for information, she gave as little as possible. To appease her mother, she told a few anecdotes of her life as a thief, though Feniel frowned when she mentioned stealing, and she always left out the consequences of her stories. She blushed nearly constantly, avoiding whatever facts she thought her mother would find shameful. Eventually, they heard Tunnor stirring in the bedroom, and the conversation grew grim.

“I remember Ada was close friends with Berion… Will he be all right?”

Feniel worried the edge of the table with her nail, scraping a thin layer off the wood. “I’m not sure. The wound is still fresh… But I do believe that, eventually, he will be okay again. I’m not so sure about Miriel…”

“She’s strong. As is Ada. They’ll both have us, and Tirrion. I hope it will be enough…”

The bedroom door opened, and Tunnor walked into the kitchen. He was bleary-eyed and ruffled, old blood on his skin having rubbed onto the clothes he changed into. “Amoniel… you’re really back.”

She stood and gave him a hug, carefully avoiding any blood on his clothes or skin. “Are you feeling better? After sleeping?”

“I’m feeling better since you came home, _sellig_ ,” he stared into her face, familiarizing himself with his daughter once again. “You must tell me everything that’s happened since you left.”

Amoniel laughed a little. “I just finished telling Nana the very same thing.”

“Then it’s my turn!”

“And what will I do?” Feniel teased. “Sit here and listen to a story I’ve heard already?”

“What, you’re already tired of hearing it?” Tunnor teased back.

“Perhaps I should take Hador and go see Tirrion again. You know, your son? Injured, alone? What will they say when I show up for a second time today without his father?”

Tunnor kissed his wife, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips. “They’ll say that your husband has made time for his daughter, who has been gone these long years, and he’ll visit Tirrion tomorrow.”

Feniel was suddenly frowning again, but Amoniel was the one who spoke. “I’m not sure we should mention that I am back.”

Tunnor’s face fell. “So you’re a secret, then?”

“I don’t think anyone will recognize me… I hope they won’t remember me, either…”

“We can just say she’s a cousin! Visiting.”

Tunnor shook his head. “It’s best if we just tell as few people as possible that she’s here at all.”

“And when I stay? When I’ve been here for years? The word will spread, Ada. I can’t stay indoors.”

“And she’s not leaving us again!”

“Of course not! She must stay with us. We will just have to… cross that bridge when we come to it, is all. We should just pretend that everything is normal, that all is all right, that Amoniel being back is normal, and only tell those who ask.”

Feniel nodded bitterly. “We will have to wait and see.”

“And, in the meantime, I’ll stay away from Calarphen,” Amoniel joked, for she had hated her thieving ways more than anyone else and had openly advocated for Amoniel’s exile. The joke fell flat on her parents.

“You had better stay away from her!” Feniel clutched her heart.

“I know, I know, don’t worry. Low profile, of course. I’ll stay around Tirrion and Miriel.”

“Hador will also be safe,” Tunnor added. “He will usually be with Tirrion, anyway.”

Feniel stood. “I was also serious about taking him to go visit Tirrion now. You two should catch up while I’m gone. I’m sure Tunnor has more details about our lives than I remembered.” She smiled, vaguely. “Maybe Amoniel will remember more while I am gone, as well.” She turned to Tunnor. “You are planning to visit Tirrion tomorrow?”

“Of course; he’s my son.”

“I think Miriel would benefit from seeing you as well, then. I’ll be going now…”

All three said their goodbyes, and Feniel departed. Tunnor started the conversation again. “Does Miriel know…?”

“About Berion? Yes. She’s been very quiet about it all…”

“And you two… are friends?”

“Oh, Ada, there’s a lot to tell you.”

Feniel returned many hours later, and Amoniel and Tunnor had barely finished speaking. The sun was all but gone, and Feniel forced all three of them to go to bed, as the day had been long and full of troubles.


	10. Chapter 10

The following afternoon, Tunnor wrapped some of Feniel’s bread in paper and headed for the hospital. He visited Tirrion first, spending time laughing and eating together. Tirrion was clearly feeling much better, and the healer seemed impressed. Tunnor didn’t want to leave his son, but he remembered his promise to visit Miriel, and his heart went out to her. She was no doubt suffering far more than he. With this in mind, he finally managed to say his goodbyes to Tirrion and cast around for Miriel.

Approaching her bed, he didn’t know what to say. Sorry didn’t seem enough, but if felt necessary. How does one get over the death of a father, and a friend?

Miriel saw him approaching, but seemed to stare at a spot above his right shoulder. He sat in the chair by her bed, which had been occupied by Amoniel for that first, long night. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. They sat there in silence for a long time. Tunnor reached his hand out, gently, and Miriel placed her hand in his. The bread he had brought for her cooled in his bag, and he carefully set it at the foot of her bed. Neither of them touched it. As the sunlight shifted into softer, cooler beams, Tunnor finally spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He felt the words small, but still necessary. His attempts to control the swell of emotion that followed failed him, and his free hand moved up to his face as he started to sob.

For the first time since Berion’s death, Miriel felt the sadness welling in her eyes, wetting them. Finally, she thought she would cry, but the tears never fell. She simply gripped Tunnor’s hand tighter, wishing the emotions would go away. They didn’t, and Tunnor continued to cry.

When evening sunlight passed into twilight, Tunnor finally let go of her hand. He placed the bread closer to Miriel, gently urging her to eat. Wiping the final tears from his eyes, he stood to walk away. He froze, for just a second. “Take care of yourself,” he said, a normal phrase, but it carried more weight than it should have.

“Thank you,” Miriel whispered, watching him leave. For the first time in a while, she felt hungry enough to eat. After several bites of the bread, however, her stomach tightened and would not let any more food pass.

The door to the hospital clicked softly shut, but somehow echoed in Miriel’s ears. A healer came by and gave her a hot cup of tea, which placed her easily into a dreamless sleep.

 

Tirrion came home from the hospital only two days later. He was still supposed to be resting, but he could now do so in the comfort of his home. When the healer pronounced him able to leave, he felt mostly relief wash over him. It wasn’t fun to be stuck in bed all day, surrounded by the wounded. The only bad part…

He stopped by Miriel’s bed on the way out. She was sleeping, something she did a lot since the battle. He stared for a while, then made up his mind. He gently leaned down and kissed her forehead chastely. Miriel woke, though she didn’t open her eyes. Tirrion, believing her to still be sleeping soundly, spoke from his heart. “I have to leave you here, for now, _melleth nín_ , but I’ll keep visiting. I know things are bad for you right now, and it… it hurts me that I can’t fix it. I just want you to be happy again. I just wish you could smile, even once more… I wish…”

Tirrion stopped talking, and Miriel opened her eyes just a crack. Tirrion was looking sadly down at Miriel’s hands, clearly wondering if he could take one without waking her. She shut her eyes again, waiting to see if he would finish.

“I hope for you to find your happiness again. No matter how you find it. Goodbye for now, Miriel. I’ll be back for you.”

He slowly left her bedside, taking his few belongings from the hospital back home. Miriel finally propped herself up as best she could to watch him disappear from out the window, until she eventually fell asleep yet again.

 

* * *

 

Nine slow days had passed in the hospital since Tunnor’s visit, and Miriel remained still with the wounded. It was tiresome; her unoccupied mind dwelt mainly on her father, combining her constant physical pain with mental agony. Every time she slept, she dreamt of him. Of his death, and his life, every little memory of him playing through her mind. She wanted to write it all before she forgot, but asking for some paper was more than she could muster.

One morning, every elf was awoken by a sound like an enormous explosion. Startled out of sleep, Miriel sat up with a struggle and tried to see out the window that everyone else was gathering around. A huge pillar of cloud and smoke was issuing out of the east.

“What's going on?” the elf in the bed next to her called to the elves at the window, who were chattering amongst themselves in shock.

“The explosion, it came from Mordor!” someone exclaimed. The chattering increased in intensity and volume. Was this some new sort of sorcery the Dark Lord had cooked up? One last means of attack? The thought frightened Miriel, and yet it didn’t feel like that was what was truly occuring. Strangely, she was starting to feel as if someone had opened the curtains and the room had become lighter. She sank back in bed, wondering what had happened.

Not five minutes later, an elf ran into the hospital, seemingly out of breath. “Mirkwood! It is becoming lighter! The evil in the East has fallen! And there are ships, pouring into the forest from Lothlórien!” He cried, and everyone cheered, understanding now what had happened. The explosion, they would later find out, had marked the destruction of Orodruin, and of Sauron, at long last. His shadow had been in the elves’ homeland for years before he had even returned to Mordor.

Was it possible, could this evil that had been a presence for so many centuries truly be gone? Miriel tried to wrap her brain around the concept. Her whole life she had seen its effects. She remembered as a young child, her father telling her she could not play in her favorite forest glade anymore, that it wasn’t safe. That part of the forest had been immersed in darkness for many years. What would happen now, would Mirkwood be cleansed? Would it return to how Miriel always had tried to remember it, a vast and beautiful realm, still capturing a slight remembrance of the elder days? No, that wouldn’t be completely possible. _Not without Ada,_ she told herself. _What good is it if the forest is healed, if I cannot walk with him through it?_

 

Amoniel and Tirrion were together when they heard the explosion. Amoniel was teaching Tirrion to weave flowers together into a screen, when the sudden boom made them both jump, ripping the flower stems in two. Strangely, they both began to laugh, feeling the forest lighten in some unexplainable way. They cared not for what the boom meant, or where it came from. The only thing they could feel was a weight lifting from all around them, and the somehow hilarious torn flower stems in front of them. They were nearly in hysterics when another elf suddenly ran by, yelling the news. The sight of the elf, hair flapping, shirt askew, yelling of evil being gone, made Tirrion and Amoniel laugh harder. The danger had passed, had been so long in passing. Now that it was destroyed, a few torn flowers could not stop the mirth.

_Avaron won’t half to worry about those few spiders, anymore._ The thought dried Amoniel’s laughter slightly. _I really must go see him again…_

She stared into her brother’s face, freckled cheeks sprinkled with the tears of hard laughter. _Staying here a while longer wouldn’t hurt._ He, noticing her sudden seriousness, stared back as seriously as he could. They both began to laugh again.

 

* * *

 

Amoniel was beginning to get used to her life back home. Although Feniel was still keeping an annoyingly close eye on Amoniel, and she had once caught her mother going through her things, their relationship had never been better. Amoniel was careful to suppress her itching fingers until she was sure she was alone, and she hid her small, guilty treasures in a small box under her mattress. She was certain Feniel had already checked there, already, and wouldn’t check again. So as long as Feniel didn’t catch wind of Amoniel’s stealing, they were happy together.

Tunnor, on the other hand, had fully embraced everything Amoniel told him and was ecstatic that she was home. He shared Tirrion’s levels of enthusiasm, and it was channeled directly onto his daughter. “Even if you were still a thief, I would love you the same,” he had said one day, hugging her out of the blue. Amoniel was tempted to tell him the truth then, but she didn’t want to find his words to be lies. His love was enough, without testing to prove it was truly unconditional.

Her days were spent lazily in the woods with Tirrion or Hador when they weren’t working, Feniel when they were gone, Tunnor when he arrived home at night, exploring the forest when she was alone, or visiting Miriel. This last one was the only activity that gave Amoniel great anxiety, even more than running into Thranduil again. Miriel had not grown any more or less listless, and Amoniel’s small gifts of flowers and words of comfort seemed to matter not. Other than Miriel’s continued depressive state, and the constant fear that she would be discovered as a thief again, Amoniel lived very happily. Occasionally, when she was alone, she would go and stare at Calarphen’s house and let her dreams of stealing progress to the point that she would have to run and dunk her head in water after. Home again at last.

One day, before dinner, Tirrion asked his parents if they wanted to take Amoniel to what he referred to as “the Tree” at sunset. Amoniel was, of course, instantly intrigued.

“Yes, Nana, Ada, I want to see this tree? Can we go?”

“That’s a great idea!” Tunnor was instantly up and already rushing around the kitchen, looking for a basket to carry food. “We must bring sandwiches, of course, tradition… And, let’s see, jam? Yes, very good…”

Feniel pulled the basket out of a closet and handed it to Tunnor. “We haven’t gone there in a long time. You used to invite Hador to come along every time, if you still want to ask him.” Miriel sometimes came, too, although none of them mentioned her. She was still not allowed to leave the hospital.

“Yes! Come on, Amoniel, let’s go ask.” Tirrion grabbed Amoniel’s hand and practically ran out the door.

“Okay, okay, Tirrion!” Amoniel laughed. “What is this tree anyway?”

“Oh, it’s this huge tree with a big old fork in the branches, and I mean _big_ , and we sometimes sit there and eat sandwiches and watch the sun go down. It’s a family tradition! And I figured, you’re part of the family again, and we haven’t done it in a while, so…”

Amoniel grinned as Tirrion knocked on Hador’s door. _It’s a family tradition, and… you’re part of the family again._ She screamed a little, internally, for once forgetting her past and letting the present consume her. The excitement of the moment was all that really mattered, the chance to be a part of long-standing family traditions. And with Hador! He opened the door, smiling at Tirrion and then grinning as he saw Amoniel, standing there with a big smile of her own.

“Hello, you two. What’s up?”

“We’re going to the Tree tonight! Want to come?” Tirrion was bouncing on the ends of his feet like a child, and Hador couldn’t help but feel energized as well.

“With your family? It’s been so long since we did that!”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, so you’ll come?”

“I will! Just give me a few minutes to get ready.” He faced Amoniel directly, partially shutting Tirrion out of their conversation. “Haven’t you been to the Tree before?”

“No, never, but Tirrion has already sold me on it.” She and Hador smiled at each other, and Tirrion broke their eye contact by stepping between them.

“Then let’s go! See you back at the house, Hador!” He was already leaving, rushing home to help pack food.

“See you soon, Hador.” Amoniel gave him a slight smile, but found her eyes shifting downwards.

“See you!” He waved goodbye and shut the door as she followed Tirrion back home.

With Tirrion’s help, the food was already packed when Hador arrived. He had changed into something a little fancier than what he usually wore, but grew red when Tirrion asked him about it. Amoniel said she thought he looked nice, and he blushed more and thanked her.

The trip to the Tree was short, as they were all talking merrily and laughing on the way there. The Tree itself was large, larger than many of the surrounding trees, and had a gorgeously silver trunk with broad, golden hued leaves. They climbed about halfway up, pulling the basket of food carefully along with them, and settled on a large, flatter portion of the trunk where several branches split off. The sun was just touching the horizon as they shared the food and began to eat.

Not much was said, besides easy conversation, and the light of the falling sun mixed with the air to turn the sky into a purple-gold ombré. Feniel and Tunnor sat on either side of Amoniel at first, but gradually everyone shifted positions. Feniel and Tunnor sat across from Amoniel as the meal ended, and she was now sandwiched between Tirrion and Hador. Though several people had sat alone at some point, someone was always sitting next to Amoniel. She never felt alone in the hour they stayed out there. She finally belonged with a group of people, her family, once again, and she felt she would never leave. Even as the night ended, she returned to her bed feeling that she would never be lonely again, and lovely memories of the evening danced through her head.

 

All the elves still in Thranduil’s dining-hall turned hospital seemed to heal faster as the shadow began to pass. More and more elves were returning home. Over the next week, Miriel could feel her strength returning, slowly. Physically, that is. If anything, every day felt more painful, mentally. Every day was another in which she didn’t get to see her father.

When there were only ten elves left, they were each transferred to the home of a healer. The King seemed thrilled to regain the use of his dining hall, and he personally greeted each of the injured elves as they left, giving them all large bouquets of bright flowers. Tirrion came to see Miriel home as well, although Amoniel seemed to have disappeared. He helped her gather her belongings and fastened her silver cloak over her nightgown.

Miriel had not been allowed to walk more than to the end of the room and back, so Tirrion volunteered to carry her, despite her complaints. Miriel was carried to the house of Nestoril, the healer who lived nearest Miriel’s own house. Passing her house on the way to the healer’s brought a fresh biting wave of hurt, and Miriel buried her face in Tirrion’s chest until long after the house passed out of sight. He stayed with her most of that day, and, later, Amoniel showed up to say hello. Other visitors filtered in and out every once in a while, but many seemed too uncomfortable with the silence to stay for too long. Eventually, all had left, and Miriel fell asleep feeling more exhausted than ever before.


	11. Chapter 11

Soon after leaving Miriel at the healer’s house, Tirrion went off to find Amoniel. She had run off the second she saw Thranduil, and apparently not returned. He found her somewhere halfway between their home and the dining hall turned hospital turned dining hall again. She was pacing on the side of the path, and looked jumpy. “Amoniel? You left before Miriel saw you.”

“Oh, um, yes. I did. It’s just… I’m sure you know this, but… Thranduil… You know. He’s the one who, who exiled me. He was just… there. At the hospital.” She stopped pacing and picked up a flower, which she began to remove petals from.

“Surely he wouldn’t recognize you? It’s been many years since then…”

“Oh, see, the thing about that is, I’m pretty sure he would recognize me.” Tirrion began to speak, but she talked over him. “I don’t know if he would remember exiling me, but he probably does. It’s not everyday an elf is cast out… But besides that. I, might have, kind of, run into him. During that battle… And by ‘run into him,’ I mean… I _ran into him_.”

Tirrion gasped. “You hit him? How? Surely it wasn’t that bad?”

“I knocked him over full force in the middle of battle by accident, and I think he said my name.”

“That… really is bad.”

“Yeah, yeah, it is.” She tore the head off the flower and began to peel the stem. Tirrion grabbed her hands, and she looked up at him for the first time. “You seem pretty calm about all this.”

“Because you’ll be fine, Am. What’s he going to do? Exile you again?”

“Yes!”

“No. It’s been years. In fact, we’ve been hiding you for too long. It’s time for other people to start knowing you’ve returned.”

“Tirrion!” Amoniel began to panic.

“No, it’ll be okay,” Tirrion gently turned her towards home and nudged her to get her walking that way. “We’ll just get people to know you’re back, and the whole thing will blow over. It’s not like you’re a threat anymore. It’s like you told Nana and Ada; you don’t steal anymore. It’s fine.”

“Actually… Well. How was Miriel, anyway?” The lie came smoothly to her, even though she wanted to tell Tirrion the truth. Even now, she had a coin she had taken off someone who had passed by, and it seemed to burn her through her pocket. She couldn’t tell him.

“…Not well. She is almost healed, but…”

Amoniel nodded. “I will visit her when I feel… less,” she gestured to her own shaking hands. Part of the tremor, she knew, was the desire to enter Calarphen’s house and rob her blind, an impulse she felt every time the house was near. They were just about to pass it, and she sped up. “Are you certain we should tell people I’m back?”

“Yes… Slow down, Amoniel, I can barely keep up!”

“Sorry.” She continued to walk just as fast until the wealthy elf’s house was behind her. She finally stopped to let Tirrion catch up with her, and they walked on in brief silence.

“You always run when we pass Calarphen’s.”

“It was just nerves from seeing Thranduil, nothing more.”

“No, it’s every time we pass it. Consistently.”

Amoniel toyed with what to tell him, fingering the stolen coin in her pocket. “She has… Many… Shiny objects. And it brings up my old habits.”

“Ah.” Tirrion saw Amoniel rubbing something in her pocket. “Old habits that… you don’t do anymore?”

“No…” _Please don’t ask any more about it, Tirrion, I just became part of the family again, please._

Tirrion said nothing.

_He doesn’t trust me, does he? He thinks I’m lying… What if he finds everything you’ve taken? Can’t you just get rid of it? Can’t you just find someone who would want it? Someone who wouldn’t ask questions if you gave them a bunch of small items― Ah!_

“Would you like to come when I visit Miriel, later?”

Tirrion appeared to also be ripped out of his thoughts. “Me and Hador have got work to do tonight, Am. You know how to find Miriel?”

“Umm… I could use directions?”

“Then you should have come with us today.”

Amoniel formed a retort, then realized he was kidding. She pushed him off the path, and he pushed her back. “ _Pen-channas_ , tell me or I’ll go wandering into the woods and get lost for another hundred years.”

“Ah, it’s not that far. Hopefully you’d realize you were going the wrong way before then, although, I don’t know… Maybe I got all the intelligence in the family.”

“Tirrion!” Amoniel shrieked and tried to push him again, but he ran down the path. She gave chase, pushing aside thoughts of Tirrion discovering her secret. Paranoid, before she left to see Miriel, she moved her small box of stolen items between the bed and the wall, pushing her mattress against it until it was hidden from sight.

 

Amoniel and Tirrion had visited Miriel periodically throughout her stay in the temporary hospital and the healer’s home, eventually realizing that Miriel would prefer to sit in silence than speak on any subject. They both brought her flowers every time, replacing wilted ones and filling their little vase with water. Ever since the flower crown Amoniel made had finally wilted, Miriel had not placed another flower in her hair. Amoniel didn’t bring her another, but she sometimes left small beads and things she claimed to have “found.” One was a button that looked suspiciously as if it had been cut off a shirt, and Miriel had sufficient reason to believe it had been, but Miriel kept these items carefully arranged in a small box by her bed anyway. Tirrion regularly brought her better food than she might usually have been allowed as an invalid, but she only picked at it when he was there, and ignored it entirely when he left.

After what seemed like years, although it was only a few days, the healer said that Miriel could return home, as long as she was careful. Though she was tired of her constant time in bed at the healer’s, the thought of seeing the empty house again was exhausting. Miriel tried not to think of it as she once again packed her bag.

“Are you ready?”

Miriel turned around to see Tirrion at the door.

_No, I am not._ “Yes,” Miriel responded halfheartedly, standing slowly. Tirrion picked up her bag and offered her his other arm to lean on. Miriel managed to thank the healer as she limped out, clutching Tirrion’s arm.

Tirrion wanted to say something, wanted to comfort Miriel, but he felt blocked out. Every time he attempted conversation, she would say less to him, and the wall between them would thicken. He merely nodded politely when she gave a murmur of gratitude at her front door before heading to his own home. He glanced back, seeing Miriel still standing in front of her door. With a sigh, she pushed it open and entered, disappearing from his sight.

Miriel took a deep breath, pausing in front of the wooden door. It was still home, sure, but something felt so terribly different. She released the air in her lungs and stepped inside. As could be expected, it was dark and empty. The lanterns on the walls had not been lit for weeks, and the air smelled musty. Miriel stood in the entryway silently, not knowing what to do with herself. Normally when she arrived home, her father was there waiting for her, ready to ask about her day. Instead, the foyer loomed before her in shadow, seeming much larger than usual.

She stood there, staring, for many minutes. The twenty something steps it took to cross the room seemed much longer.

Miriel finally limped up the large staircase to her room and shut the door. The house seemed so empty and silent, she couldn’t bear to be anywhere else in it. It wasn’t as if her father had been loud. She could just feel the lack of his presence somehow, and it hurt. This was… the longest time she had ever been away from him, now that she thought about it. _Every day will be the longest you have been away from him,_ she thought sadly, lying down on her bed. Her ribs and ankle were throbbing consistently now. Perhaps a nap would help, like the healer had suggested. Maybe it would improve her mood a little…

Miriel lay there a while, but sleep eluded her. Finally, she got up and numbly opened her door, walked aimlessly down the hall. It was still dim, but she did not feel up to lighting the lanterns. Miriel found herself in front of her father's door, and opened it.

The room was, of course, silent, although it was bright, and just as Berion had left it the night before the battle. His bed was immaculately made, as always. The windows were uncovered, as always. There was a folded dressing gown on the edge of his bed, and a book on the nightstand.  Miriel sat down in the big armchair near the bookshelf and closed her eyes. She half expected her father to come in and embrace her, ask her how her day was, as he often had when she waited for him there. Miriel’s mind took her back to her childhood, when Berion would hold her on his lap in this chair, and read or sing to her.  She pulled her knees up to her chest, wishing desperately she could feel his hands on her hair, and his strong arms holding her securely again. That all felt so distant now. What if she forgot what it was like? Was she already forgetting?

The room smelled like him, and it was excruciating. She wondered how long the scent would last. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, and finally fell asleep to dreams of her father coming home. It seemed like every time Miriel would run to her father, she would wake up to the painfully quiet room once again. Each time, she could only close her eyes once again and return to her sweet dreams.


	12. Chapter 12

The same day that Celeborn met with Thranduil in the midst of the forest to negotiate their newly conquered lands, Miriel’s aunt and uncle, as well as two of their married children, arrived at her home.

Eredil, Miriel’s mother’s sister, immediately greeted Miriel with a warm hug and a silver vase filled with elanor and niphredil, the fair flowers of Lothlórien. Miriel appreciated her welcome, but her sympathy seemed only to increase her aching heart tenfold.

Eredil was unnerved and a little surprised when she first saw Miriel. She did not seem like the same elleth that had visited them in Lothlorien, in the years before the darkness grew. She rarely smiled now, and when she did, it was always half hearted. Instead of the light gowns or tunics and the colorful cloaks she normally wore, Miriel seemed to live in the same dark blue dress and heavy gray cloak. She was thinner and paler than she had been, and the light behind her bright blue eyes seemed almost entirely gone. It was clear from her drawn face that she was not sleeping. The weight of her injuries and of her father’s death clearly rested heavily upon her. Eredil wondered how long Miriel had been like this, and if she could find a way to help during her stay.

 

Two days after the negotiation of the great Elf Lords, Thranduil hosted a great celebration. It seemed that every wood elf in Greenwood, along with the companies and visitors that had come from Lorien, were celebrating the end of the evil, and the start of the new year.

Amoniel was still very frightened to see the King again, but she was delighted to attend with her parents. It was still a bit awkward between them, and Amoniel almost felt like a child again in their presence. She hoped they wouldn’t keep looking at her with tears in their eyes, as they had been apt to do since she had returned. Tirrion was like an excitable puppy, leading her around and introducing her to those she had once known, long ago. She wished he wouldn’t, as many of these people clutched their bags tighter when they realized who she was. A general titter grew amongst the crowd, as they all wondered what gave Amoniel the right to come back. Needless to say, she didn’t feel terribly welcome. She actually felt quite nauseous. It seemed more and more likely by the minute that the King would simply rise and command she leave the celebration. “Tirrion, I think I would like to sit down for a while.”

“Certainly, we should choose good seats at the table before it fills!”

Ah. Well, that was fine. As long as she could ignore the stares the other party guests were giving her. Their parents seemed to be speaking to an irate elf, calming him. The elf pointed at Amoniel, who only shrunk further in her seat. She wished her fingers didn’t itch quite so much to steal the annoying elf’s rings right off his fingers.

“ _Muinthel_ , you’re looking quite pale.”

Amoniel didn’t want Tirrion to worry about her so much. He was the one she was supposed to be protecting, as the older sister. Before the King exiled her again, that is. “I’m fine.” She grinned weakly. She wondered where Miriel was.

Miriel was also struggling to enjoy the celebration. Eredil had insisted she take off her mourning clothes, and put on one of her many festive gowns. She had complied, and her aunt had twisted flowers into her hair. Miriel appreciated her aunt’s thought, but it all felt so wrong. She didn’t want to celebrate victory without one of the warriors that had made it possible. In addition, the gown had been a gift from her father, and every movement she made in it was a painful reminder that he was not there. She spent most of the party in the corner, where few spoke to her. It was clear she was in mourning, despite the bright colors of her dress. She thought Tirrion’s parents ( _and Amoniel’s_ she quickly amended) were looking for her, but she didn’t think she would have the energy to deal with them right now. Amoniel and Tirrion appeared to be having a good time, anyway.

During the main meal, Amoniel thought the King had spotted her for a second, and quickly turned to make conversation with Tirrion. She and Miriel both left the food untouched, but Tirrion seemed to eat for all three of them.

As soon as the meal had ended and the songs and dancing begun, Miriel faded back into a corner, under a large tree, in the dark. She wished desperately that she could go home. The sounds of the other elves’ laughter hurt her ears, bringing back memories of happy times that would not return. She looked around at the festivities. Minstrels played on flutes and harps while many elves swung each other around on the dance floor. The King was dressed in his most expensive attire, and a crown of many spring plants was arranged on his light hair. He looked more cheerful than normal, as he talked with a couple of his lords. Miriel recognized them; they had been friends of Berion. She quickly looked away, and her glance fell on the Lady Galadriel and Celeborn, her husband, talking quietly in a corner. They both had soft smiles on their faces as they watched their subjects enjoying themselves. Miriel sat down on an enormous log and looked down at her fingers silently.

Amoniel, not really sure what to do with herself, stayed by her brother’s side during the dancing. For once, he had stopped talking to everyone, and was staring off into the corner of the illuminated meadow. Amoniel thought she could see a slight longing look in his eyes. Sure enough, Miriel was sitting alone where his eyes rested. She had dark circles under her eyes, and an invisible cloud surrounded her.

“I’m worried about her.” Amoniel broke the silence between her and Tirrion.

“I am, as well. I don’t think she has gotten over Berion’s death. Maybe she just… needs time.”

“Maybe,” Amoniel conceded, doubtfully. “Or, maybe, she needs a friend.” She looked at Tirrion meaningfully. He sighed and frowned.

“I tried to speak with her, earlier, and she was not terribly responsive.”

Amoniel, automatically, attempted to rifle through a bag she was not wearing. She cursed the orcs once again for stealing it. “I think you should keep a close eye on her, Tirrion.” _I have seen the way you look at her, and I know you care_ , she added, in her head.

“Believe me, I am,” he added, his eyes still fixed on the lonely elleth. He was quiet for several moments, deep in thought. “She seems… different, somehow. It feels as if she was fading away.”

“I have only been around her for a few weeks, but she certainly seems… depressed. Not the elf I met back then. I am afraid she’s going to do something rash, if she does not fade first.”

“That cannot happen.” Tirrion’s voice, although quiet, was firmer than Amoniel was expecting.

“What would you suggest we do, then?”

“I do not know that we can do anything. Talking to her seems to do nothing.”

“I think we must try. Tirrion,” she cut him off before he could respond, “you really care about her, don’t you?”

Tirrion’s jaw tensed slightly, and he swallowed. “I do, very much. I have for a long time.”

Amoniel was about to respond when her worst fears were realized. The King’s voice boomed in her direction. “AMONIEL, IS THAT YOU?”

“Oh, God, Tirrion, hide me!” Amoniel attempted to put Tirrion between her and the King, to no avail. She was certainly spotted.

The Elf King seemed to dance over to Amoniel, grinning the whole way. She thought that was pretty inappropriate for an elf about to exile her. Tirrion gently nudged his sister into the open, where she tried to make herself ten times smaller. The other elves stopped dancing and speaking to look her way. _Please, go back to what you were doing, please…_ Her parents looked her way, and her father dropped whatever he had been holding. They also rushed over, as if to throw themselves between the King and their newly discovered daughter.

“Amoniel!” the King yelled again, louder than Amoniel thought was necessary. He caught up to her, grabbing her arm. He pulled her away from Tirrion, and she looked back desperately. He watched her go with fear in his eyes. She couldn’t bear to see him this way, and turned to face her exile bravely. She had done it once before, after all. The King pulled her to the middle of the dance floor, his body language demanding she follow whether he had a grip on her or not. Her fingers itched to knock the crown off his head, steal his necklace, and run. She told these feelings to hush. She wasn’t a child anymore, but she still couldn’t face her parents, especially not if she did something as stupid as that. “Everyone!” the King yelled, much to Amoniel’s chagrin. This could be just fine if everyone did, in fact, not see it occur. “This elf here,” and now Amoniel finally caught the intense smell of alcohol coming off the King, “has saved my life!”

_What?!_

Amoniel froze. When had she ever done something as incredible as save the King’s life?

“Just the other week, in the heat of battle, Amoniel here knocked me over. I was mad at her, mad beyond belief, that an elf I had expressly forbidden to return had returned only to run into me full-force in the middle of a fight.” _I bet_ , Amoniel thought to herself. She wished everyone was not staring. “That was when I saw the arrow that surely would have gone through my head fly past.”

_Arrow?_ Amoniel, if she thought back to the fight, barely remembered such an arrow. She did remember a lot of blood, however, and the King’s crystal blue eyes gazing into her own. Not a pleasant thought, although now her mind supplied a kind look to the King in her memory. Was she imagining that?

“Soon after,” the King continued, his piercing blue eyes once again turned to Amoniel, who couldn’t hold his gaze, “I thought I saw her receive a mortal blow in battle.”

The King’s words were like a mortal blow. Amoniel hoped the healer from after the battle would not start telling everyone of her “mortal” wound. She would exile _herself_ if that happened.

“For saving my life, and coming back from the dead, I hereby officially revoke the exile of Amoniel, daughter of Tunnor.” The King raised Amoniel’s hand into the air, and she made a victorious fist. She wasn’t sure what else to do.

The crowd of elves remained silent for a second. Amoniel? The thief? But the King glared at them, and they burst into cheers as Thranduil slapped Amoniel on the back, nearly knocking her over. An elf being exiled was rare, and an elf returning from exile rarer still. The King called for a toast, for Amoniel, for the elves, for all those who had fought, and for those who had fallen as well.

Miriel's heart filled with fresh grief at the mention of the deceased elves. She was glad that Amoniel was no longer banished, but the reminder or her father's death washed out any other emotions she might have had. There was no way that she could stay at this party any longer, it was too painful. Silently, she slipped over to her cousin Siloriel and her husband.

“I am tired, I would like to return home now. Would you walk back with me?” Miriel asked them quietly, her voice wavering slightly. Siloriel nodded and she and her husband escorted Miriel home.

When they reached Miriel's home, she immediately sunk into a chair, shaking slightly, one hand touching her brow. After several uncomfortable minutes, they asked if Miriel would be all right if they returned to the party. She nodded, barely hearing. They left her, concerned.

After resting for a long while, she dragged herself outside, to the porch. She wanted to be under the silent, distant stars. Miriel thought of all the nights she had spent gazing at them with her father, lost in sad, old memories.

 

By the time the excitement of Thranduil’s statement had died down, Miriel was already long gone. Amoniel returned to Tirrion’s side, wishing to run as far as possible from the crowd. Her mother and father burst into tears, hugging their daughter. “I told you it would be fine,” Feniel said into Amoniel’s ear as they hugged. Others kept coming up to congratulate Amoniel and, occasionally, to make sure she knew that they would be speaking to the King if their purses went missing. To these people, she pretended not to know what they meant. She finally saw Calarphen at the party, who seemed to be threatening Amoniel’s life with only a look. She steered far clear of Calarphen and her husband. When there was a moment’s peace, she turned to Tirrion and finally noticed his distant expression, brows knit and mouth pulled down. Tirrion saw her staring and spoke. “I think Miriel has left.”

Amoniel finally took the chance to glance around. It did appear that Miriel was gone. “Should we go look for her?”

“Yes, I think we should. She should not be out alone, not at night.” Tirrion looked as if he was about to run out into the dark at that moment.

Amoniel breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Truth be told, I did not want to remain at this party, either. I believe Miriel needs us much more than anyone here.”

“She does.” Tirrion grabbed his sister's arm and started walking forward with large strides. He nearly collided with Siloriel and her husband, returning to the party. “Have you two seen Miriel?” he asked, without hesitation.

“Tirrion! Yes, as a matter of fact, we just walked her home. I do not believe she wants company at the moment.” Siloriel leaned in, conspiratorially. “I think she still is pining for her father,” she said, as if it was a big secret. Her normally cheerful eyes were full of concern.

“I believe so,” Tirrion said at full speaking volume, not leaning in at all. “Surely it would be fine if I went to see her, being her oldest friend.”

Siloriel furrowed her brow, keeping her voice quieter than normal. “Maybe. She really seemed like she wanted to be alone.”

Her husband gave her hand a gentle squeeze, speaking softly. “Let them see her. A few friends might do her good. If it were me, I would want you to be there.”

Siloriel blushed. “And I you. Maybe it would be a good idea…”

“Of course it is!” Amoniel interrupted, anxious to leave the party before Calarphen approached her. “We will be on our way, now.”

Tirrion muttered a hurried goodbye as Amoniel tugged him away, into the dark.

 

When Amoniel and Tirrion reached Miriel’s home, Miriel was sitting outside, on the porch. She was staring off into the woods, her eyes focusing on something far beyond the dark trees.

“Hello, Miriel,” Amoniel called. Miriel turned around, and stood when she saw them. Amoniel thought she looked tired and sad.

“Hello, Amoniel, Tirrion.”

“Did you enjoy the party?” Amoniel cringed at her own words. Obviously not. Miriel’s face paled but she managed a weak, polite smile. “Sorry.”

Tirrion stepped in. “How are you feeling now?”

Miriel’s lips, although still forced into a curve, trembled slightly. “I am well,” she finally spoke.

“We barely saw you at the party… In fact, we barely see you at all anymore, Miriel! You’re clearly not well… Please, let’s talk?” Amoniel spoke the very words Tirrion was about to say, and he nodded. Miriel’s lips trembled more visibly, and the smile faded, but she tightened her jaw.

“Really… I am all right. I’m just, just still recovering, that is all.”

Tirrion took a step closer to Miriel. “You’re not all right, Miriel. Please…” Miriel moved a step back, looking away from him.

Amoniel stepped closer as well. “We’re your friends. You can’t keep living in this state of depression, don’t you see? Please, Miriel!” She rested her hand on her shoulder.

Miriel whipped around, hitting Amoniel’s hand away. Her eyes were flaming. “Leave me alone! I said I am _fine!_ ” she yelled.

Amoniel stepped back, shocked at Miriel’s outburst, but Tirrion held his ground. “You’re not _fine_ , Miriel! You haven’t been _fine_ since we found you! Care to explain why you two weren’t headed towards Mirkwood when we found you freed from the orcs? Because you never said anything about it! You haven’t been talking to me, you haven’t been talking to anyone, and I don’t know what’s going on because you won’t tell me! Can’t you just, just, talk to me!”

“Tirrion,” Amoniel said gently. He whipped around to face her, and she held her palms up in a placating gesture. Before she could speak, though, Miriel had already run into her house and slammed the door. Tirrion followed, pulling the handle and realizing it was locked.

“Miriel! Come back and _talk to me!_ ”

The door unlocked and opened again. “Leave me alone!” Tirrion tried to push his way inside, but Miriel slammed the door shut again, closing Tirrion’s fingers in the frame. He yelped, and she opened the door long enough for him to yank them out again before slamming it a third and final time. There was the sound of a large bar thudding across the closed door and footsteps running away.

“Miriel!”

“Tirrion, she’s gone. Tirrion!” Amoniel spun him around and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Tirrion. She’s. Gone. She just… Maybe she does… need some time. Alone.”

“Amoniel… Go home.”

“What?” She let go of his shoulders and stepped back.

“You don’t know Miriel like I do. She needs me here. She needs to talk. She can’t just run away from her problems forever!” He made his voice rise, slightly, so Miriel could hear him inside.

“Tirrion…” His eyes hardened, lips tightening into a frown. “…are your fingers okay?”

He flexed his hand, wincing. “They’re just bruised. Go home if you’re going to, Amoniel.”

“You’re going to stay here? What if her family comes home?”

“Amoniel.”

“Fine. I’ll leave.” Amoniel spun around, bitter. She thought of not returning home, of disappearing into Mirkwood. Not for the first time, she thought of going to visit Avaron. Unlike the other times she had this thought, she felt more serious about it this time. If her own brother didn’t want her around, if Miriel was shutting her out, Avaron would always let her in. He―

“Amoniel?”

She was mad at herself for turning around so fast. She made her tone neutral, although her twitching fingers gave her away. “What?”

“Please don’t be mad,” Tirrion sighed, gently cradling his own injured fingers.

“I’m not,” Amoniel said, lightly. She fidgeted, the two of them staring at each other. “Miriel needs you. You’ve known her longer… We’ve all had a long night…”

“Amoniel… I’m sorry. You can stay if you want to…”

She considered it. “No. You two are closer. And I don’t want to go back to the party… So I’ll just go home.”

“Get some sleep, _muinthel nín_. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. You will. I mean, goodnight, Tirrion. I… I love you.” The words sounded odd on her tongue, words she had dreamt of getting to say to her brother one more time.

“I love you too,” Tirrion replied, a little surprised. He waved to Amoniel as she left, and he gently sat on Miriel’s porch.

While Amoniel was going to sleep in an empty house, Miriel was staying awake in hers. Tirrion remained on her porch, twiddling his thumbs. She had to come out sometime, whether that be tonight or tomorrow or even a week from now. The minutes slipped by, and Tirrion fell into a sort of half-doze. Miriel, meanwhile, was wide-awake, sitting in the room just beyond the door. The moon rose high into the sky, and a slight breeze picked up.

Tirrion wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling himself farther into the doorway. Miriel heard the wind moaning past the trees, and inadvertently took a step towards the door Tirrion was just behind. She took a step back again. The wind gusted again, and she walked to the door. She reached for the handle, but sat down instead, leaning against the door. The bar that was blocking the door was annoyingly at head level, and she lifted it and set it aside.

Outside, Tirrion heard a gentle scrape against the door. He, too, reached for the handle and pulled away. Miriel had to come to him, if she was going to come back at all. Chasing her had only pushed her further away. He forced himself to stay sitting.

The moon reached its apex in the sky, and the wind was blowing in earnest. Tirrion shivered, staying in the doorframe. Suddenly, the handle turned. The door opened, just a crack. Tirrion scrambled to turn around and face the door, hoping it would open just a few centimeters more, but it remained barely open. He couldn’t see Miriel through the crack, but he knew she sat just behind.

“I’m sorry,” came the small voice through the door.

“I’m sorry as well. Please… When you’re ready. Talk to me. I’ll be here for you. No matter what, Miriel.” He stuck his hand through the crack, but Miriel didn’t take it.

He pulled his hand back out. They sat there, together, until the wind died back down. Eventually, Miriel shut the door again, but she didn’t lock it. Several minutes later, her footsteps padded away, but there was no malice in their steps, this time. Tirrion waited, wanting Miriel to come back, to speak to him.

Tirrion saw elves begin to come home from the celebration, and he watched their progress from the door. One elf came from the opposite way down the path from the festivities, from the direction of Tirrion’s house. He thought, at first, that it was Amoniel, but slightly closer inspection revealed it to be Hador. Hador spotted him and gave a small wave.

“Ho, Tirrion!”

“Hador! What are you doing here?”

“I stopped by your house and only Amoniel was there. I think I woke her up. Will you apologize to her for me? But, she told me you were here. Said you were waiting for Miriel.”

“Yes. When she’s ready for me, I’m going to be here for her.” His eyes dared Hador to change his mind, and Hador took that challenge.

“She’s not coming out, Tir.”

“She opened the door earlier… Just a little bit, but―”

“Come on. It’s not open now. She went to bed, as should you,” Hador held out his hand. He knew what to say to make Tirrion see reason, and it was working fast.

“She has to come back, she has to talk to me…”

“She will, Tir, she will. Give her time. Come home.”

Tirrion finally stretched out his hand and let Hador pull him up. He placed his hand on Miriel’s doorknob one last time, and Hador led him down the path. Miriel’s house had disappeared behind them before they spoke again.

“Did Amoniel seem… mad at me?”

“At you? No. She was just tired when she opened the door. Why?”

“We had something of a fight…”

Hador nodded wisely. “The sibling rivalry is beginning. I have to say, I’m a little jealous.”

“That we fought?”

“That your sibling lives here, _pen-channas_.” Hador’s voice softened ever so slightly. “Amoniel seems really nice, too. All she does is talk about how lovely it is to have Miriel as a friend, to finally know you again, to be back home. She hasn’t been friends with Miriel for too long, and already she’s visited Miriel more than I have. Oh gosh, Tirrion, I’ve barely seen Miriel since Berion… Well, you know!”

“Miriel isn’t very… talkative right now, anyway. But I do think she benefits when someone visits her. We can see her together, later?”

Hador’s demeanor changed, became less ashamed of himself and more disapproving towards Tirrion. “You shouldn’t push it, Tirrion. She wants some time alone. You know her better than anyone. Surely you know this.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that! I don’t think she wants to be alone. I think she can’t,” he caught himself before he could say something rash and chose his next words carefully, “find a way to deal with the death of her father. I could help her…”

“Maybe you can, Tir. But not right now. And not all at once. These things take time, and they take baby steps. Figure it out later, when you’re not so tired.”

“I’m not tired!”

Hador watched Tirrion practically stumbling down the path, eyes bleary. “Well, you should try to sleep anyway.”

Tirrion nodded noncommittally as they approached his house. Hador helped him inside and led him to bed, where he collapsed with his party clothes still on. “Thanks, Hado.” The words meant beyond a thank you for helping him home, and Hador knew it. He smiled, watching Tirrion already falling asleep.

“Goodnight, Tir.”

“‘Night.”

Hador gently shut the door and began to walk out of the house. Amoniel suddenly opened her bedroom door, yawning, and whispered a hello. “Is Tirrion sleeping?”

“He is. Are you okay? He said you two had a fight.”

Amoniel smiled brightly. “We did. It doesn’t matter much. He said he loved me, as well. Never thought I would see the day where my brother could say that to me again.”

“Well… congratulations, then, Amoniel.”

“Thank you.” Her smile fell. “Was Miriel…?”

“I don’t know. Tirrion said she opened the door again? I’m not quite sure what that meant, but I believe she was in her room when I arrived, and she didn’t come out.”

“Oh, Miriel… I just want her to be happy again.”

“We all do. It will happen again, some day.”

“I hope so.” She yawned, inadvertently. “I should be sleeping now… Goodnight, Hador.”

“Goodnight, Amoniel.” He stared for a second, then colored a bit in his cheeks. He walked away and gently shut the front door behind him. Amoniel wondered what he saw in her that made him suddenly embarrassed. Did she have food in her teeth? She shrugged and went back to her bed, soon falling sleep.

Both Amoniel and Tirrion didn’t hear their parents come home, so deep in sleep they were, although it was only minutes after both had gone to bed. ****


	13. Chapter 13

The day Amoniel had been dreading arrived after a fine afternoon spent napping in a tree. Feniel and Tunnor were off somewhere, enjoying some time together alone, and Tirrion wasn’t to arrive home until much later. Amoniel had used the time to explore more of her old hometown, and then dozed off in the branches of a large tree. When she woke, she decided to go home again and organize her things while she waited for someone else to arrive home.

She opened the front door and heard noises already inside the house. _Maybe someone is home already?_ She crept into her house, realizing the noises were coming from her bedroom. The door was shut. She hadn’t left it shut. She automatically reached for her sword, and felt her heart rate jump as she remembered the orcs had stolen it long ago. _Why didn’t I get a new one? It’s too late now!_

_It’s fine, it’s probably just Nana or someone. In my room… Going through my things… Oh no, where did I hide my box of stolen things again? Oh no, oh no, oh no, please, no!_

Amoniel whipped the door open, ready to scream if someone she didn’t know was inside. Tirrion turned to face her. He was holding her small box open, and he had a guilty expression on his face. “Amoniel! It’s you!”

“Yes, it’s me! And that’s mine!” _Please don’t let him know those things are stolen, please―_ She reached for the box, but he held it behind his back.

“Amoniel, we need to talk about this.”

“What were you doing looking through my things!”

“It’s not like that! I just heard something fall in your room, and when I went to investigate, I found this under your bed, and it had popped open―” He held the box in front of him again, full of rings, buttons, beads, coins, bracelets, necklaces, squares of fabric, a small brush, two socks, several pocket knives, and other various assorted odds and ends. “These aren’t yours, are they? I-I mean… you stole them, right?”

Amoniel flew through anger, indignation, denial, depression, and finally landed on shame and self-pity. “I’m a disgrace, aren’t I? I couldn’t learn my lesson after all these years… I couldn’t stop…”

Tirrion closed the box and sighed heavily. “You’re not a disgrace, Am. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I just― It’s just― Last time―Before, when I was a kid― Oh, I don’t know! I was scared, that’s all…”

“Scared? Of what? That I would tell Ada and Nana? That I would get you exiled again? Amoniel, I’m your brother. You know I wouldn’t do any of that! I just… I just want to help you.”

“No one can help me, Tir.” Amoniel reached out again, and Tirrion finally allowed her to take the box from his hands. She stroked it gently and lightly, as if it was burning her to touch, but she couldn’t stop. “Nana or Ada or anyone… I just… can’t stop. I don’t want to do take things! You have to understand; I just can’t help myself.”

“Oh, Amoniel… It’s all right…”

“I know,” she spoke softly. “I’d just like to be all right, here. I don’t want to have to… to leave again.”

“I won’t let that happen! You know Ada and Nana would fight for you to stay, as well. But don’t worry; I won’t tell them your secret unless I have to. Does, um, does anybody else know?”

“Miriel knows.”

They both stood, silently, neither knowing what to say now.

“I guess you know, now, as well.”

Tirrion hummed an “mm-hmm.”

“No one else, though. I suppose this explains… some of the things I’ve been doing.” _Like running as fast as I can past Calarphen’s house._

Tirrion again made the affirmative noise.

“Do you… Are we…?”

Tirrion looked at Amoniel’s concerned face. “Goodness, of course I’m not mad or anything. We’re still siblings and still friends. I’m just… processing it.”

Amoniel nodded. The silence stretched almost a full minute.

“Am, you know a lot about flowers, right?”

“Um, yes, I suppose I do.”

“I’m thinking… of taking Miriel somewhere later. I want to bring her something pretty, you know?”

_And just like that, he’s accepted it? My stealing?_ “I think I can help you out with that.”

“Good. Thanks. I’m going to go change into something a little less… uniform-y. Be right back.”

Tirrion left the room, shutting the door behind him. Amoniel put her box away, hiding it with shaking hands. _No one else. No one else can find it. No one else can know._

 

Tirrion hesitantly walked to Miriel’s house, the sun just touching the horizon and fading fast. He picked a bouquet of lilies and irises and anemones, as per Amoniel’s advice, hoping Miriel would just answer the door, if nothing else. The walk seemed to last, simultaneously, an eternity and only a few minutes. He was standing before her door almost before he had time to breathe, and still every second stretched forever. His hand lifted to knock, although it seemed separate from his body. He knocked.

Siloriel opened the door. “Tirrion! Please, come in.”

He stepped inside, wasting no time. “I’d like to see Miriel, if that’s all right.”

“Oh! Certainly. She’s just in her room right now… As usual.”

Tirrion nodded, casting a “Nice to see you,” at Siloriel as he left to find Miriel. He, once again, stood in front of a closed door. This time, however, Miriel would definitely be the one to answer his knock. He knocked softly, with an arm separate from his sense of self.

There was no sound from behind the door.

“Miriel?” Tirrion called softly. “It’s me… I-I’m sorry about… our fight. I brought you flowers? I was hoping… you would let me in?”

The door swung open silently. Tirrion hadn’t heard Miriel walk to the door, but he supposed she must have, for she was now walking back across the room, seating herself in a well-used chair by the window. He entered just enough to close the door gently behind him. “Hello, Mir.”

“Hello, Tirrion.” Miriel’s voice was low and clear, although it sounded bent by the weight of a heavy load.

Tirrion, taking her greeting as an invitation to come further inside, walked closer and held out the flowers. “These are for you.”

She took them absentmindedly. Tirrion could not tell if she was looking at the flowers, or beyond them. “Thanks.”

Tirrion shuffled from foot to foot, working up the courage to speak again, hoping Miriel wouldn’t take his words the wrong way. “I’m sorry about our fight. I want to make it up to you. I think… It’s just, I know where… Would you like to visit Berion’s grave?”

Miriel’s shoulders slumped slightly and she stayed silent for a long while, facing away from Tirrion. Finally, she spoke. “Yes. I… I would like that,” Miriel whispered, finally turning to face Tirrion. Her plain white nightgown hung limply over her thin form. Tirrion wondered if she had changed her clothes at all that day.

“Oh… Oh! Good! We should leave soon… Before it gets dark.”

“Right, yes. If you will excuse me…” Miriel pulled another dark blue gown from her closet and slid it on as Tirrion politely turned away, red in the face. When he turned back around, Miriel had adorned herself in a black velvet cloak and was walking towards the door. She was holding the bouquet as she left the room, and Tirrion followed. He noticed that the knuckles clenched around the flowers were white and shaking slightly.

Siloriel greeted them on their way out. “Miriel? Is she going somewhere?”

Tirrion noticed the question was addressed to him and realized Siloriel was probably used to Miriel’s silence by now. “We’ll be back soon,” he answered, and Siloriel nodded, confused, but trusting.

Miriel and Tirrion walked into the soft, fading light, the sun shining into their eyes. Tirrion squinted, feeling it was all the better if he had a reason not to make eye contact with Miriel. He couldn’t figure out through her body language if she was angry with him, or sad, or even happy to be visiting her father’s grave. She just seemed… empty, staring forward with no change of facial expression. Her posture, although straight, was weighed down. She carried the flowers as if they were a wedding bouquet, carefully and reverently. The silence was uncomfortable, but Tirrion couldn’t think how to break it. The walk seemed to last for hours, though the sun was still partially in the sky when they arrived at the meadow that marked the burial site. Most of the mounds, although now becoming grassy, were sprinkled with various flowers that had been left on them by other elves. Someone had planted flower bushes around the edges of the field, vaguely marking the borders of the cemetery.

Tirrion led Miriel towards the right grave, noticing how carefully she avoided walking over any other dead elf’s final resting place. The gravestone was simple, little more than a small stone at the head of the grave. At the sight of her father’s grave, at seeing how truly dead he was, she only retreated further into herself.

He was really gone. The proof was here, his cold body was lying just underground. Miriel knelt without a word and sat beside where he was buried. She ran her fingers along the tengwar etched into the small rock. Berion. _Ada._ Miriel bowed her head and let the bouquet fall onto the grass.

While Tirrion was hyper-aware of every movement he made, Miriel grew detached. The grief was too strong; her brain blocked it out. She was left feeling numb, but still deeply in pain. She couldn’t access the emotion, yet it rested just under the surface. She wanted to cry. She didn’t want to move. She sat in silence.

Tirrion didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t want to break the absolute quiet of the graveyard, and he felt it would be wrong to say anything to Miriel now. After a long contemplation over how much noise it would make, he sat next to Miriel. She didn’t acknowledge or notice the change, and, to him, it felt as if he had sat down next to a stone wall.

The sun finally slipped below the horizon, and the moon cast barely a faint glow. As it grew darker, and colder, Tirrion wrapped his cloak tighter around him. He wanted to touch Miriel, to wake her from the trance she seemed to have fallen in, but he couldn’t bring himself to even pull her cloak closer over her shoulders. The cool night air wasn’t unpleasant at first, but he gradually grew stiffer in the moonlight, his muscles less responsive. When his legs began to run pins and needles up his calves, he finally had to move, and he stood.

Miriel, without changing facial expressions, stood as well. Her shoulders remained slumped as she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. Tirrion saw her mouth something in the direction of Berion’s grave, but he couldn’t catch the words.

“Should I… take you home?” Tirrion whispered. Miriel nodded, almost imperceptibly. She began to walk in the direction they had come, and Tirrion followed. He had hoped bringing her to Berion’s grave would thaw her, help her heal, but she seemed more unreachable than ever. He hoped she was just processing the visit, although he didn’t truly believe it. He hoped he hadn’t made things worse for her. He wanted to hold her hand, as one last means of consolation, but her hand was hidden deep inside her cloak.

Again, the walk to Miriel’s house was in silence. Tirrion, again, couldn’t find any way to break the silence, although he felt, desperately, that the opportune time to speak to her was slipping away as they walked. Still, no words had been spoken when they arrived home. Miriel opened the door to her house, and Tirrion finally found his voice. “Mir?”

She turned around and looked at him, making eye contact for the first time that night, half of her face hidden in the shadow of her hood. Her visible eye was full of sorrow.

Tirrion hoped she would speak, but she simply stared. He thought of all he could say, all the words and condolences and apologies. “…Goodnight.”

Miriel mouthed the word back, but her lips were trembling, and no sound came out.

Neither of them moved, so Miriel closed the door. Tirrion raised his hand to knock, but held back. He had made things worse. He stepped away from Miriel’s house, heart weighing heavily in his chest. He took the first few steps backwards, then turned and ran. He had made things _worse_.

He arrived home, not being terribly quiet at opening and shutting the front door. He had hoped someone would still be awake when he returned, but all their doors were shut tight. His mother was sitting in a chair in the main room, but she was clearly in a deep sleep. He considered waking her, but spun on his heel and entered his own bedroom, shutting the door. Tears began to flow, for Miriel, for Berion, for the wall Miriel put up that kept the world out. He stuffed his sheets over his mouth, muffling his sobs. _Why Miriel? Why does she have to suffer this way…_

The night was long for both Tirrion and Miriel, both of them having much more to think on before the sun finally rose and the routine of daytime cast their darkest thoughts away. ****


	14. Chapter 14

Amoniel spent much of her time wandering alone, when Tirrion and Hador were working. There were still few places she hadn’t seen or explored yet, and she was determined to find them. One day, she was exploring a part of town where few elves went. The area was riddled with flowers, and she wove herself a crown as she walked. Finishing, she picked more and more flowers and filled her pockets with them. She found a rock that shone golden in the sun, and, not feeling as though it was worth much but still wanting it, she placed it also in her pocket.

Up ahead in the distance, she saw a shimmering light. She walked a bit closer, and saw that it was a bit of glittering metal an elf was carrying. The elf was laughing and singing with two others, and appeared to be walking out of some sort of cave. A banging noise was issuing fairly periodically from inside the cave. _What were they doing in there?_

Amoniel watched as the chattering elves headed down the path, her eyes still locked on the shiny, pointed metal they carried. She thought it was a small dagger, but she couldn’t be sure. As the elves left, she drew closer to whatever cave they had walked out of. She couldn’t see inside very well, but she thought she saw some sort of light spilling out. Her thieving intuition told her something valuable was stored inside, so she entered the opening in the rock.

The inside of the cave was wide and large, and, near the back, it had been turned into a forge. The sounds of banging stopped when Amoniel entered. She saw a single elf there, setting down a hammer that he had obviously been using to bang a piece of hot metal into shape. He had on an apron and heavy elbow length gloves.

“Can I help you?” he asked, a friendly smile forming on his slightly dirty face.

“I am just, just looking.” Amoniel gave him a vague smile. She wasn’t going to buy anything. Stupid thief intuition, leading her to a place where she couldn’t even steal anything. “What are you making?”

“Oh, are you interested in metal work?” The ellon’s eyes lit up slightly. “Please, come closer and watch. I’m making a crown for my little _sellig_.”

Amoniel timidly stepped closer and watched the elf’s skilled hands pull a shining strip of metal into a circle, twisting it. Her mind became lost in the motions, and she absentmindedly began to pull flowers from her pocket and twist them into a circle that was relatively the same size.

“What is your name?”

“Amoniel,” she answered, yanked out of her daydreaming state. “And yours?”  
“Faelon. It’s nice to meet you, Amoniel.” He had been keeping a neutral expression as he worked, but he again flashed the smile she had seen when she entered. “Not many people visit me, out here. None of them are really interested in my work, either, only the end result. Hardly that, sometimes.”

“I think what you’re doing is actually quite fascinating… I have something of a, uh, _passion_ for metals, you see.”

“Do you?” He set the small crown aside for a second and pulled out a few strands of metal, each crafted in intricately swirling shapes. These he set in front of Amoniel, adjusting them to his satisfaction. “Do you know what these are?”

“Iron, aluminum, copper, bronze, silver, and, oh my goodness, gold! Oh, these are good. Did you make them?”

Faelon wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, embarrassed. “I did. But… Where did you learn this?”

“It’s my business to know the worth of… precious objects.”

Faelon stored his small metal statues away and pulled out a variety of rings. “Can you… tell me which of these is the most and least rare?”

Amoniel put her unfinished flower crown down next to the metal crown. The approximate size was nearly the same, which Faelon noted with interest. Maybe her intuition had led her to the right place, after all. “Absolutely I can!”

She spent the next few minutes sorting through the rings as Faelon finished his daughter’s crown. When he turned to quench the crown, she pocketed a few of the rings. He put the last touches on the crown, and Amoniel watched interestedly. When he finally smiled and said he was finished, she proudly displayed four rings on her fingers. “This ring is the most expensive, this cheap one the least, but these two have fake jewels in them. They’re really very clever, though.”

Faelon looked surprised, but please. “That’s… correct. I don’t mean to be rude, but… When you said it’s your business to know the worth of such things… and, pardon me, but I know a few of my rings are gone now… Sorry, it’s just… Are you a thief?”

Amoniel bit back her denial. She put the rings in her pockets back onto the table. “I’m not here to rob you, I swear, I just stumbled upon this place by accident. I really do think you’re doing interesting things! Beautiful things… Shiny metal… All day… Please, excuse me, I have to leave now…”

Faelon grabbed her arm. “Sorry! Please wait. You’re the one… Thranduil exiled, right?”

“I really must leave―”

“Sorry! I keep being so impolite! I don’t mean anything of it! I just… You seem to have a real interest in metal working, is that correct?” He suddenly realized he was still holding her arm and let go hurriedly.

“I guess what you were doing did look interesting…” Amoniel picked up her flower crown again and began to finish it, still with half a mind to simply run away.

“Amoniel, I would like to offer you a job. Well, an internship, anyway. I’ve been looking for someone to do what I do, and my son was never particularly interested anyway… It’s not going to be easy, especially since you, I assume, don’t have any experience?”

“I don’t, but… A job? Here?”

“Is that not to your tastes?”

“It very much is…” She ripped a flower petal off, grimaced, and replaced the flower with another. “But are you sure? Are you sure you want  _me_?”

Faelon laughed, just a little bitterly. “I do. I don’t have anyone else here falling at my feet, asking to replace me. And you have a sharper eye than anyone I have met since― well, anyone I have met in a very long time.”

“Oh… I think… I would like that.” Amoniel thought of her family, working, and her, wandering free every day. She should make something of herself, other than a thief…

“Great! Can you start next week? I just have to prepare a few things before you arrive.”

“Actually, yes! And, um, thank you. For offering. Here―” She took the flower crown off her own head and placed it on his, than handed him the smaller crown as well. It was finished, and exactly the right size. “For your daughter.”

Faelon solemnly adjusted his crown firmly on his head, then saluted Amoniel. “Thank you, Intern Amoniel.”

Amoniel saluted back, giggling. “Master Craftsman Faelon.”

They both finished their silly, solemn salute and Amoniel turned to leave. “Oh, Amoniel?”

“Yes?”

“You still have one of my rings.”

Amoniel’s face burned when she returned it, but she skipped home anyway. She couldn’t wait to tell her family. A real job, finally. Respectable. Out of the way. Surrounded by tempting things. She grinned all the way there.

Tunnor and Feniel had never been prouder.

 

A few days after Thranduil's celebration, Feniel sent Amoniel to Miriel's home, inviting her family for dinner that night.

The door was opened by Eredil, and she smiled brightly. “Good day, Amoniel, is that right? Please come inside.”

Amoniel nodded. “Thank you, same to you.” She entered, wondering how a house full of Miriel’s relatives could seem so silent. “My parents would like you all to come to dinner tonight. Is Miriel at home?”

“Tell your parents they have our enthusiastic acceptance.” The bright smile lit up her mouth again, then faded as she spoke of Miriel. “She is in her room still, I believe. I… Actually, I have not seen her today.”

“Thank you for accepting.” Amoniel paused slightly. “Would it… Be all right if I checked on Miriel?”

“I think that would be all right.” Eredil sounded a little sad, and gestured vaguely to where Miriel’s room resided.

Amoniel nodded, heading up. “Thanks,” she tossed back again, already focused on how to help cheer up Miriel.

Eredil twisted the bottom of her shirt in her hands and watched Amoniel go. She hoped Amoniel would have better luck convincing Miriel to leave her room than she had had the past few days.

Amoniel arrived and pushed Miriel's door open a crack. Even though it was a sunny day, the room was only dimly lit, as a thick curtain was drawn over the window. Miriel sat by the edge of the window, staring into space. She was still dressed in a nightgown with a blanket over her shoulders, and her hair was unbrushed. She looked noticeably thinner, which worried Amoniel.

“Miriel?”

Miriel turned her head towards the door. “Amoniel? You’re here.”

“My parents invited you all for dinner. Your aunt said you were still in here; I just wanted to see how you were.” Amoniel studied Miriel's face closely. Her eyes were dull, and had dark circles under them. Her cheeks were pale, her face drawn and expressionless. “I hope that you will come. Nana has been wanting to see you.”

Miriel struggled to come up with an excuse, but her brain gave her nothing. She sighed, slightly. “I will come.”

“Good.” There was an awkward silence, and Amoniel drew closer to Miriel. “I guess I will see you this evening. Just make sure you do your hair before you arrive, okay?”

A tiny hint of a smile crossed Miriel's thin lips. “If you say so.”

“And,” Amoniel pulled a flower out of a loose pocket, gently opening the petals, “this is for you. It’s like the one you had when I—When I met you.”

Miriel’s eyes widened, slightly. Although she did not cry, she took the flower with violently shaking hands. “Thank you, Amoniel.”

Amoniel grinned back. “Of course. Remember, tonight, my house.” She hesitantly took a step towards the door, not wanting to leave Miriel alone in the dark room.

“Goodbye,” Miriel said, returning her gaze to the window. She held the flower cupped delicately in her unsteady hands.

“Goodbye, Miriel.” Amoniel shut the door quietly and sighed. She threw a parting goodbye to Eredil as she left, wondering how anyone could remain so cheery even as Miriel wilted. She walked home in silence, and didn’t even notice when she passed by Calarphen’s home.

 

Amoniel arrived home to find most everyone rushing around. The stark contrast between Miriel’s stagnant emptiness and her bustling family rattled her. For a moment, she only stood, watching the movement. Then, her mother came over, and Amoniel forced a smile.

“Are they coming?”

“They said yes. Miriel as well.” Amoniel caught Tirrion’s eye over her mother’s shoulder. He had a look on his face that she couldn’t place, although it seemed somehow melancholy and soft. She thought she could understand the feeling. She returned to looking at her mother.

“Oh, wonderful! That poor elleth needs some time away from her house. She’s hardly out of her room, these days, is what I have been told, anyway,” Feniel suddenly recalled what she had been doing before Amoniel arrived home. “There’s still much to do, then! Your father and Tirrion are setting things up outside, but I could use some help cooking. If you want.”

For a brief second, Amoniel tried to picture herself in Miriel’s shoes. The mother in front of her long dead, her father just recently. The thought brought a sting, but gentler than Amoniel had expected. It would be like living in exile, again, and she had resigned herself to such a life long ago. She would miss her parents, certainly, but she didn’t think it would be as bad as it was for Miriel. She suddenly recalled Miriel saying that she would have had an older sibling, but he had died soon after being born. Tirrion? Gone? The thought stung much deeper, and she thought she knew why. She had always convinced herself that she would return, one day, and gather the courage to go meet him. He was always a presence in her life, always the picture that she had kept in her pocket, always the hope of returning home. Now, he was one of her closest friends. Yes, the thought of him gone hurt. The idea that he had been born dead, and she had grown up alone, hurt. She thought it would throw her into a depressive state, at least, if he suddenly died now. If he had never existed, she be much worse off than she was now.

Avaron suddenly popped into her head. He had been the father Amoniel had needed after she had been exiled, and she owed more than her life to him. To a certain extent, she had never even seriously considered the idea that he could die, one day. He had lived so long. The thought immediately brought tears to her eyes.

All this had flashed through her mind in just a few seconds, and her mother was still waiting for a reply. “I would like to help you cook, Nana,” Amoniel answered.

Feniel’s eyes darted back forth between Amoniel’s watering eyes. “Are you all right? Is it Miriel?”

Amoniel sniffed, wiping her eyes. “No, it’s just, I’m just, being stupid. I just―” She caught her mother in a hug, holding her closely. “I don’t want to lose anyone. I’m sorry, I just, I really don’t want to lose you again.”

Feniel hugged back. “Of course you won’t lose us, honey. We never really went anywhere; we’re not going anywhere. You’re back, and as long as you stay, we will be here.”

Amoniel caught the warning in her mother’s voice. _‘_ We  _never really went anywhere._ We’re _not going anywhere. As long as_ you _stay…’ Does she really think I’d get myself exiled again? Does she have some proof that I never stopped stealing things? Does she blame me for leaving?_ She pulled away from the hug. “I won’t leave, Nana. I’m staying. Please, let’s go make dinner together.”

Her mother nodded, heading to the kitchen. “We have many people to cook for, so we should get started early.”

Tunnor passed by them, ruffling Amoniel’s hair. “Welcome home, again.”

“Hello, Ada,” she grinned. “Miriel’s family has accepted our invitation.”

“I should hope so, otherwise I’m doing all this for nothing,” he lifted the chairs he was carrying slightly higher, a laugh hiding behind his words. “And Miriel? I heard she hasn’t been feeling herself.” He threw the words back over his shoulder, heading outside.

“She’s coming too!” Amoniel called after him.

“That’s great!” He was gone, then, to place the chairs around the table and clean them off.

Amoniel and Feniel, too, left for the kitchen.

Amoniel wasn’t terribly bad at cooking, having learned a bit from her mother and from Avaron, and it was much easier work than cleaning and decorating. She and Tirrion pulled faces at each other when he passed by the window or the kitchen door, each believing the other to have the worse task. She couldn’t believe she finally had someone to make faces at. The work was pleasant, and the time seemed to pass quickly. Her mother’s gentle guiding soon had Amoniel making better food than she had ever made in her life, and Tirrion and Tunnor were drooling when they passed by the kitchen. Plates stacked high with food were laid on the table, and with high anticipations, they waited for the arrival of their guests.

 

When Miriel and her family arrived, Tunnor greeted them and led them behind their home, where a table had been set up and decorated under the trees. Amoniel glanced at Miriel, noticing that she had indeed brushed her hair, although the flower she had given her was not behind her ear. She was wearing a dark blue gown, almost black, the same that she had been wearing since she returned home from the healer’s.

Tirrion noticed her and immediately greeted Miriel, taking her hand. Amoniel noticed that Miriel treated him with distant politeness, and Tirrion’s enthusiasm faded away. Amoniel’s parents greeted Miriel’s aunt and uncle welcomingly, and they all sat down around the table.

Miriel stared down at her filled plate. _You need to eat,_ a voice in her head nagged. _It would be rude not to,_ another part of her brain pointed out. If anything, she had to taste a little of the food, just as a courtesy to Amoniel’s family. It probably tasted good; it had to, as everyone else was enjoying it. Miriel attempted to pick up a bite with her fork, but it felt as heavy as lead, and she ended up slowly moving the bite from one side of her plate to the other, before setting the fork back down again. Her hand reached into a pocket in her cloak, feeling the petals of the flower Amoniel had given her one at a time. She slid it out of the pocket and looked at it in her lap, feeling the petals and turning it over. It was the same kind that Berion had most loved to see in her hair. Miriel shuddered, forcing herself to hide the wave of grief that washed over her. The laughing elves around the table seemed distant.

“You all right, Miriel?” Amoniel’s voice pulled Miriel momentarily out of her misery.

“I am fine,” Miriel managed to say. She did not manage a smile.

“I haven’t seen you in quite a while, Miriel,” Feniel suddenly called from across the table, noticing that she was not part of the general conversation. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing,” Miriel said lamely. It wasn’t a lie.

“Oh, I see.” Feniel sounded a bit flustered. “Don’t you normally wear a flower in your hair? I see you are not, today,” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“No, not today.” Miriel’s head lowered slightly more.

“Have you… done any drawing recently?” Feniel was clearly running out of ideas. “I remember you used to sketch things for—I remember you use to sketch things.”

“I have not.” Miriel’s voice was nearly a whisper.

“I see.” Feniel attempted a polite smile, but the silence that followed was awkward.

Within a few minutes, the conversation had resumed. Miriel had once again faded out of it again, into her own thoughts. She looked at Amoniel and Tirrion. They were laughing together, over some joke that Miriel had missed.  Tunnor was speaking with her uncle, leaning far back in his chair. Eredil and Feniel were speaking, with the occasional laugh mixed in. Another burst of laughter from Amoniel and Tirrion. Miriel wondered what it was like to have a brother. As it often had, her heart filled with longing for her unknown brother who had died so long ago. What would he have been like? _Probably just like Ada,_ she thought. The idea was overwhelming. Shaking, Miriel stood up from the table and began walking quickly away. She ignored the group’s questions as she left. She just had to get away from there, get away from everything. _I want Ada!_ something inside of her screamed, and she broke into an unsteady run.

 

After Miriel had left the table, the other elves looked around at each other in shock. Tirrion instantly sprung to his feet, hitting his knees on the table. Feniel grabbed the edge of his shirt and pulled him back down.

“Let her go, Tirrion. She needs time alone.”

“Nana, I cannot bear to see her like that!” Tirrion remained sitting, but his whole body was tense.

“Tirrion is right,” Amoniel agreed, also standing. “She needs help.”

“Feniel is right,” Eredil stared at Amoniel calmly. “Miriel doesn’t respond well to others right now. She needs time.”

_Easy for you to say, living in that house with her day and night, none of you can help her, she isn’t listening, none of us can help Miriel, she just won’t let us help her!_ Amoniel sat back down. _Why won’t Miriel let me help her?_ She nodded numbly, aware that Miriel’s cousins were staring. _Why can’t any of you cheer her up? Why?_

Tirrion grabbed his sister’s hand under the table and gave it a gentle squeeze. “She’ll be fine,” he muttered. “We will find her later, if she hasn’t already gone home to sleep.” He didn’t sound convinced, though.

 

Miriel collapsed to the ground in front of the grassy mound that marked her father’s grave. She lay across it, breathing hard. The running had caused her ankle to start throbbing, but she ignored that. She wanted to cry, to scream, but her emotions were bottled inaccessibly. Instead, she stared at the blades of grass, and pulled them out one at a time. She placed the flower in her hand on the dirt mound. She longed to give it to her father. He would put in her hair, make sure it was straight. She just wanted to see him again. Miriel dropped her head into the crook of her arm and lay still, wishing her father was there. Maybe if she stayed there long enough, somehow, it would bring him back…

 

Miriel awoke from her troubled dreams to a hand on her shoulder, shaking it lightly. She started, but relaxed when she heard Tirrion’s voice.

“It’s late Miriel, you need to go home.”

Miriel remained on the ground. “Please, just let me stay here, I want to be alone…” She buried her face in her arms again. TIrrion’s hand pulled persistently on her shoulder, until she sat up.

“I know, I am sorry. But it is late, and your uncle and aunt are concerned about you. Please?”

Miriel sighed, and took Tirrion’s hand, standing slowly. Her head suddenly began to spin, and she leaned on him, her knees threatening not to hold her weight. Tirrion quickly put his arms under her knees and back and lifted her.

“When was the last time you ate, Miriel?” he asked softly. She didn't answer, and laid her head against his shoulder, suddenly exhausted. Miriel thought about the question, closing her eyes. Her mind vaguely sifted through the last few days, but she could not remember eating. She seemed to fall asleep; when her eyes opened again, Tirrion was setting her down inside her own house, and Eredil was helping her get to bed.

 

* * *

 

Amoniel and Tirrion were out enjoying the fine weather, which had finally grown warm enough to be enjoyed. Amoniel hummed while making a crown of daisies. She did not have to look at the daisies much to fit them together, and she was enjoying watching the water in the stream trickle by. Tirrion had been staring at the trees in the distance. Amoniel thought it was a comfortable silence, until Tirrion broke it.

“Do you know if Miriel is home?” Tirrion asked his sister, cutting off the sound of the water. She shook her head, looking at him in concern. Clearly, he had been thinking of their friend while she had selfishly been enjoying the day. Neither of them had seen Miriel since the night of the dinner, earlier in the week.

“I saw her relatives go for a walk in the woods a while ago, and they have not returned. I did not see her with them.” _Stupid, Amoniel, you should have thought more of that._

“I think I’m going to check on her.” Tirrion shifted himself on his feet, feeling somewhat uneasy. He didn’t like the thought of Miriel being home alone.

“Should I come?” Amoniel asked, gently setting down her unfinished flower crown.

“I’m not sure if that is the best idea.” It was not that he didn’t want to be with his sister, it was just that he wanted a moment alone with Miriel. He wanted to be by her side. He said none of this, however.

“If that is what you think is best…”

Tirrion knew Amoniel was stung, but she picked up her flowers again, anyway. _Next time, sister,_ he promised silently. _I just want to see Miriel alone, just for today._ He walked away to the sound of Amoniel continuing her humming slightly off-key. He wondered if his sister was doing that on purpose, to be passive aggressive. _Next time_ , he thought, continuing to Miriel’s at a faster pace than usual. The words, “I did not see her,” continued to ring through his head.

He let out a breath of surprising relief when his knock on the door was answered by Miriel, and yet his relief was quenched quickly. Miriel was extremely pale, and looked almost wraithlike, somehow much worse than before. She was dressed all in grey, and Tirrion could see the bones in her shoulders through the fabric. She was thin, much too thin. His eyes shifted up to her face, which was was blank and empty, void of emotion. She looked sick, hopeless, and nearly dead.

“Good morning, Tirrion.” Her voice was equally empty, and seemed distant. It sounded less like a comment on the warmer weather, and far more like an automatic response. She pushed open the door and stepped aside so he could enter.

“Good morning, Miriel.” To Miriel, this sounded like nothing more than the automatic response. “I just, I wanted to see how you were.”

“I am well.” Another response simply pulled from her brain’s files of what to say. Miriel shut the door and walked silently away from it.

“Are you?”

Miriel was quiet for several seconds. Tirrion thought he heard her breathing falter, but her voice was strong when she spoke. “Yes.” Her face remained turned away from Tirrion, effectively shutting him out. It felt as if the icy wall she had put between them had doubled in thickness, and yet he could still tell that, under her heavy cloak, she was hurting deeply. He wanted so much to help her, but he couldn't see a way beyond that wall.

“Is there anything I can do for you, while I am here?” Tirrion asked, struggling for words.

“No, I do not believe so. Thank you.” Miriel still sounded far away and cold.

“Well, I… I suppose I should be on my way now. Good day, Miriel.”

“Good day to you as well.” Miriel did not at all look as if she thought that today, or any day, would be good. She opened the door for Tirrion again with no change in her facial expression. After hesitating for a moment, he left, disappointed and very concerned that he had not been able to get through to her.

The warm sun no longer seemed to keep the chill inside him away, although the temperature had not changed. He returned to Amoniel by the stream. Her crown was complete, and she solemnly placed it upon his head. “That was very fast,” she commented.

“Miriel… Didn’t want to see me.” Tirrion sat heavily on the ground, adjusting the flower crown so it rested more securely.

Amoniel nodded, sitting next to him. “She might need some space, for now. But you should go back later, maybe tomorrow. She needs us. She was very close to her father, as you know.”

Tirrion just nodded back. Amoniel cast around in her thoughts for something else to speak about. She suddenly grinned.

“You know, I used to make you flower crowns when you were a baby.”

Tirrion blushed slightly. “Nana says you used to put them on my head when I slept, too, and she was afraid I would find a way to choke on them.”

Amoniel laughed. “You would have been fine! The only problem with wearing them as you slept is that I believe they tickled you. You could never stop giggling when you head one upon your head. It was adorable to see. What I wouldn’t give to have grown up placing countless flower crowns upon your head…” Amoniel lapsed into painful, nostalgic silence.

Tirrion leaned against his sister, and realized he felt warmth inside him again. Family. “There is plenty of time left for that, _muinthel nín_.”

“Oh, Tirrion, I have wasted so many years away. You are practically a stranger to me.”

“Yet you are here, now, and we have so many years left. We can make up for the time we lost. We can laugh and cry and fight and speak. I can finally speak back, instead of the babbles of a child. You say I am a stranger to you, but you are not who I have grown hearing about, either, and yet you are the sister I have always wanted to meet. Can’t you let that be enough?”

Amoniel’s voice sounded watery when she spoke, although, when Tirrion looked at her, she was not crying. “I can. _Hanar._ ”

They sat in silence for some time, watching the water of the stream carry paper-thin leaves and sand away, wearing down the heavier pebbles. Eventually, Amoniel spoke again.

“I am going to visit Miriel, tomorrow. Do you want to come?”

“Yes, I do. I… need to.”

Amoniel felt the need as well. She nodded in silence.

They sat until the sounds of their stomachs forced them to return home.


	15. Chapter 15

The rain had started off soothingly, helping Tirrion to sleep. He was already dreaming when the wind picked up, slapping the rain unceasingly against the walls and roof of the house. The night grew darker, the wind heavier, the rain thicker. Lightning began, far away, but quickly moving closer. The low rumblings turned suddenly into booms, scaring many young elves as the night wore on.

One of these sudden crashes of thunder awoke Tirrion, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Rain was pounding on the roof, and he sighed, and glanced outside. Thunderstorms in Mirkwood ( _Greenwood now,_ he corrected himself mentally) were always spectacular. Another bright flash lit the flailing trees. Silently, he slid out of bed and strode to the window.

A white form passed by, soaked in the storm, stumbling as another flash of lightning split the sky.

_Who would be walking at this time of night? And where are they going…_

Tirrion peered out his window, attempting to see through the pour of rain. The figure appeared to be stumbling and shivering, but continued to walk in the same direction, buffeted all the way by the wind. He wished he could see more, but the rain was blurring the image through the windowpane. _Maybe they’re fine… Maybe they’re just headed home…_ Tirrion opened the window, anyway.

Seeing the figure, he gasped and almost let the pane slam back down onto the frame. He didn’t have time to wake anyone else. He threw on clothes, yanking a cloak around his shoulders. He burst from his bedroom, but his loud movements were obscured by another crash of thunder. Before opening the door, he briefly feared for his safety in the storm, but cast the thought aside. He was needed. The door slammed shut behind him, and thunder rocked the house.

 

Miriel looked around her, and found herself in a strange place; there were shining white pillars, and snaked around them were intricate vines of some plant unknown to her. It seemed that from the distance, voices were singing in a tongue that she did not know. She took a step, amazed at this place, and found her bare feet on soft grass. Something was familiar and a bit nostalgic about it.

“Miriel, _henig nín_.”

Miriel started at the voice and turned around slowly.  “Ada…” Miriel’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of her father. His pale, dead face that she last remembered seeing was replaced by one that seemed younger, more carefree. He was dressed in clothes more majestic than she had ever seen, even in the house of the King. He stretched out his arms to her, and smiled. Miriel gave a cry of joy and ran to him, her heart suddenly freed from its heavy burden. She reached out her arms to accept his loving embrace…

A huge clap of thunder tore away the vision, and Miriel was left alone in her dark room, her father replaced by a pile of blankets. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she sat up―the dream had been so vivid, so real. She glanced around her room, lit only by the occasional flash of lightning. The house was dead silent.

Numbly, she slipped out of bed, and walked to her bookcase. She ran her fingers along the spines of the books, most of them gifts from her father. Sometimes he would come home from meetings with armfuls of books for her; children’s stories when she was young, books of ancient lore and language as she aged. In her many years, Miriel had acquired quite the collection. Images of Berion reading to her, and with her, flashed through her mind, and she turned away from the shelf. Another burst of lightning lit up the cluttered room as she stepped silently to the door and opened it, staring straight ahead.

The enormous, intricately carved wooden staircase brought back what had happened, only a couple months ago, when Miriel had seen her father alive for the last time.

“I love you, _henig nín_ ,” she remembered him saying.

“I love you too, Ada…” she whispered, no one hearing. She wiped her eyes furiously and moved slowly down the stairs.

Each and every hall, doorway, and object in the house brought back another vision of her father, it seemed. The huge armchair near the fireplace where he would hold her as a child. The long, polished table, which many years ago had held a feast for the family, fit for the King himself. The room, now empty, that had held her childhood toys, and had become many a magical kingdom in years gone by.

Every beat of Miriel’s sorry heart hurt her. Hardly looking, nothing more than muscle-memory and habit, she slipped on a belt with her sword on it. It seemed she could hear her own childish laughter, mingling with that of her father’s, as he came home.

“Please, make it stop, the Valar have mercy,” she choked, and threw open the door, slamming it behind her. The sound did not ring, swallowed by the rain and the fog of outside.

Water streamed down Miriel’s long hair and gown as she walked. Mud sloshed beneath her bare feet, but she took no note of it. She just walked. It seemed to her that hours, days, months, years, had passed, and she continued walking, cold, wet, and with a persistently aching heart. There was no sound from anywhere, no light, only the dark branches and trunks of trees, cold grey mud, and thick white fog.

Miriel paused as the expanse of wet ground beneath her feet came to a halt. Although she could not see it, she knew that she stood at the edge of a great ridge, overlooking the vastness of the forest, beyond the home of the elves. The steep drop below her was filled as an enormous bowl with fog. Beneath the fog, she knew that there were sharp rocks and an angry river. Behind her, only tree trunks and more fog. She stared downwards, and it seemed to her that she could hear the voices from her dream singing again. She could see her father’s face, filled with joy. Eldamar, yes, that was it, that was the place she had seen. The halls of Mandos. A rhyme passed through her mind, one someone had given to her written on a card, something about seeing loved ones again in that place. What was to keep her from going there now? Valinor, Miriel’s father, and the return of happiness was only one step away. She took another step, her bare toes brushing nothing but air.

“Miriel.”

She turned around swiftly. A tall figure came closer to her, out of the fog. It was Tirrion. Without a second thought, Miriel pulled out her sword with a sharp ring of metal and pointed it directly at him.

“Don’t come any closer to me.” Her voice sounded strangely calm and empty, even to herself.

“Put the sword down.” Tirrion’s face became visible through the mist. It had a stern expression that Miriel had not often seen, and his voice showed no emotion.

“I will kill you.” Miriel’s voice faltered slightly, and the sword lowered a fraction of an inch.

“Miriel.” Tirrion’s voice was gentle, but commanding. His eyes seemed to bore into her soul, and she turned her face away from him, her hands shaking as the point of her sword approached the ground. A wisp of fog came between them, and Miriel was silent for several moments.

The sword fell to the ground with a hollow clank, and a sob tore Miriel’s throat. She stumbled towards Tirrion and fell against his chest, burying her face in it. His arms closed tightly around her back as she cried, all the love and grief for her father pouring out at last. Every once in a while, he would caress her shaking shoulders with a soft whisper of reassurance.

Tirrion held Miriel closely, peering over the edge of the cliff. He could see nothing but fog, for a long way down. Eventually, the fog obscured Tirrion from seeing farther, but he knew it was far enough. He clutched Miriel tighter, taking a half-step farther away from the edge. She was alive. That was all that mattered, to him. A long time passed, with him holding her. He was relieved that she was finally crying; she had seemed mostly void for a long time. He could feel the wall between them breaking down, the formalities of the last few months disappearing. Miriel was simply coming back, finally living again. He wished he wouldn’t have to let go.

As Miriel’s sobs became slowly less frequent, the pain she had been harbouring leaked out and blew away. Grief for her father still lingered, but she almost felt a sense of relief at the outpouring of emotion. She breathed deeply and shifted her head; Tirrion’s tunic smelled comfortingly of woodland scents. He sighed as well, and his arms tightened around her slightly. She felt safe in his arms, protected and away from her troubles. Slowly, her crying ceased, but his hold on her did not. Miriel’s stiff form relaxed and she returned his embrace at last.

The thunderstorm had stopped at some point, and had been replaced by a gentle rainfall. Some moonlight became visible through the clouds, as the mist cleared. The pair slowly separated. Miriel looked up into Tirrion’s face. His brow was furrowed with concern, and he gently moved a strand of hair away from her face, before taking both of her hands.

“Are you… feeling better now?” he asked. His voice was more tender than she had ever heard it, and soft kindness made Miriel’s eyes water again. She gave a quiet sob. Tirrion led her under a sheltering tree, and sat down in the dry grass beneath it. She sat down next to him, sniffling and rubbing the tears from her eyes. He enclosed her small, thin hand in his much larger ones and held it as if it would break. They were silent for several minutes as the rain slowed and stopped.

“How did you know I was here?” Miriel’s slightly hoarse voice seemed as part of the quiet night, not an interruption.

“The storm woke me up. I saw you outside.” Tirrion stared straight ahead, lost in the memory. “I couldn't understand, I didn't know…”

“Why did you stop me?”

Tirrion turned towards her, his grey eyes full of emotion. “What choice did I have? I could not leave you to jump to your death, to, to wither away out here, anyway from anyone. What would my life be without you? What would I have?” His voice rose slightly. Miriel stared up into his face, mouth open slightly, eyes shimmering with tears. “Had you jumped, the brightest light in this forest would have been extinguished forever.”

The intensity of the feeling in his voice almost startled her. It wasn't like him to talk in such a manner. She looked toward the ground. Reaching over, Tirrion lifted her chin so her eyes were level with his. His face was nearly touching hers, and Miriel noticed his eyes begin to water slightly. “I can't live without you, Miriel. I love you, so much. I have loved you for so long…”

At that moment, she realized. He wasn't just her childhood friend. He was her closest and dearest friend. The one who had always stood by her through everything, and who she knew always would. The one who had saved her life. She realized now that her father had seen deeper than she had. “I love you, too,” she whispered, staring into his eyes.

The moment stretched, each aware of how close they were to the other. Tirrion gently held Miriel’s hand tighter, and she leaned in, eyes closed. Their lips met, staying together for a long time. The hand that had rested on Miriel’s chin cradled the back of her head.

Their lips parted at last, and they stared into each other’s eyes again for a long time. Eventually, Miriel rested her head against Tirrion's shoulder lovingly, tiredly, looking deep into the trees. Her hand felt perfect in his. Her father had been right about their love all along. They both seemed to realize it fully at once.

Tirrion stared down at the beautiful elf in his arms. He did love her, and at once he made up his mind. He could not wait any longer. “Miriel… This may not be the right time, but… I want to get married. Will… Will you marry me?”

Miriel looked into Tirrion’s eyes. She truly did love him. She was still afraid, but also so full of hope. Her best friend, her lover, her husband. Her father would wait for her in that beautiful place; it was too far away to be seen, now. “Yes, yes, I will.” Almost before her response had really registered, she found her arms around his neck, kissing him again. “Of course I will.”

“Miriel,” he said, tasting the name as something new. She was his, and he was hers.

“Tirrion,” she responded, agreeing to an unspoken question. Love. Her tears flowed again.


	16. Chapter 16

It had started raining again when Miriel and Tirrion finally stood, both unspokenly realizing that as much as they would have liked to, they couldn’t sit under the tree forever. Miriel wiped some rain water and some tears off her cheeks again, as Tirrion walked out into the fog, and returned with her sword in his hand. He was hesitant to return it, but they both knew it was no danger, not anymore. Miriel took the sword and reached out to take Tirrion’s hand again. A hint of a smile crossed his lips as he squeezed hers.

“Miriel?” A voice echoed through the sound of the rain.

Miriel stopped in her tracks, looking all around. Just before the voice registered in her still slightly clouded mind, two figures carrying lamps ran out of the fog towards them. Eredil and her husband. Eredil’s hands were grabbing Miriel’s shoulders before she realized it.

“Miriel, there you are, thank goodness! When you weren’t in the house, we were worried sick!” Eredil pulled Miriel into a tight hug, then pulled away again and surveyed her. “What are you doing out here in the rain? Why do you have a sword? Why is Tirrion here?”

“Eredil, I…” Miriel tried to say more, but all the words choked her and her eyes began to water again.

“What… what is it, Mir?” Eredil stared at Miriel, feeling as if something was strange. The crying, that had to be it. She hadn’t seen Miriel crying since… Since before her father died. “Are you… are you all right?”

Miriel started sobbing again, and hugged her aunt tightly. Eredil stiffened in surprise, then relaxed and hugged back.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Eredil said comfortingly, shifting so she could put her arm around Miriel as she walked. “Let’s go home.” Miriel nodded, and leaned on her aunt as they walked, Tirrion’s hand connecting with hers again.

 

Miriel was shaking by the time they get back to her home, some from the cold water dripping from her thin nightgown, some from the intensity of her emotion. She stood aimlessly in the hallway, sobbing every once in a while. Tirrion stood near the door, trying not to drip too much on their floor. Eredil was soon back with several thick, warm towels for Miriel, and several for Tirrion as well. She handed Miriel a dry night gown.

“You just go change and dry off, it’ll be all right.” Eredil squeezed her hand and walked into the kitchen.

“Will you be okay?” Tirrion asked Miriel, unwilling to part with her, even for her to change.

She swallowed hard and managed a small nod.

“Good. I’ll… still be here, if you want.”

Another nod, slightly more pronounced. Tirrion’s eyes followed her as she limped up the stairs, and stepped into her room, shutting the door. He stood there, still staring towards the door, absently rubbing his wet strands  of hair with a towel.

“Tirrion? Can I get you some tea?”

Tirrion jumped slightly at the sound of Eredil’s voice. Turning around, he remembered his manners. “Yes please,” he answered, face turning slightly red. He followed Eredil back to the kitchen, a little reluctantly. Eredil silently placed a steaming hot cup of tea in front of him.

“Are you comfortable?”

Tirrion nodded and sipped the tea. Eredil nodded back in acknowledgment, and they sat in a contemplative silence.

After a few minutes, Miriel limped back down the stairs. She was dressed in the fresh nightgown, a towel around her shoulders. Eredil immediately got up, and sat her down in a chair in the kitchen, pushing another cup of tea into her hands.

“Now please, dear, tell me what happened out there.”

Miriel raised the tea to her lips with shaking hands. Tirrion cut into the conversation. “Should I begin the story?”

Miriel finished taking a sip of tea and nodded. “I―” Her voice was weak, and she cleared her throat. “I think that would be best.”

“I guess I woke up to the storm. I went to the window to watch the lightning, just on a whim, not even thinking I might see… Well, I saw someone out there, walking in this rain. I thought them crazy, until I realized it was Miriel.”

“What were you even doing in the storm that late?” Eredil asked Miriel. She was silent was a long time.

“I had a dream about Ada, about… seeing him again,” Miriel said quietly. “Waking from it was… too painful, much too painful. I just needed… I was trying… To go away,” she finished limply, tears forming again in her eyes. “I was being stupid, I wasn’t thinking clearly…”

Eredil looked from Miriel to Tirrion in horror. “What… what does she mean? She was trying to go away? Miriel, where were you going?”

Tirrion again cut in. “I followed Miriel in the storm. She was going to―” he paused, looking meaningfully at Miriel. “That is to say, I found her―” he again stopped, unable to continue.

“I was going to walk off the cliff.” Miriel said, her voice trembling. “I wanted to die. I wanted to be with my Ada again, I couldn’t see how I could live without him… I was so wrong, though…” Without warning, she started crying again, and Tirrion grabbed her hand.

The trio sat in silence for some moments as Miriel cried and Eredil tried to process the information. Eventually, shocked, she turned to Tirrion with wide eyes. “Thank you,” she choked. “For… for it all. Thank you.” Eredil couldn’t quite articulate it, how much Tirrion had given. He, who had never given up on helping Miriel, who had kept her away from the cold finality.

“He saved my life,” Miriel sobbed, and grabbed his hand tighter. “I just… he… he is so…” She looked up at Tirrion through her tears, at a loss for words.

Tirrion seemed a bit embarrassed, but he pulled Miriel close and embraced her. He looked at Eredil over Miriel’s head. “You’re welcome,” he stammered lamely, not knowing what else to say. He kissed the top of Miriel’s drying head and whispered a small “I love you,” in her ear.

Eredil stood, slowly, dazed and also embraced Miriel. “I am so glad you’re alive.”

“Me too. Me too.”

They sandwiched Miriel in a hug for many long minutes while she cried. After a long while, she was sniffing and yawning into their arms, and Eredil became aware of how late it was. “Miriel? Would you like to go to bed now? I can tell the others what happened― unless you don’t want me too, of course.”

“I think… that will be fine. I really would like to sleep now. I haven’t slept well since my father died.” Fresh, hot tears burned her eyes and she swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“Of course, dear, of course. Come on to bed, now. Tirrion? Would you like to go home? You may, of course, return in the morning, or anytime you want, of course.”

“I should sleep, so long as Miriel is fine with my leaving.”

Miriel nodded, already closing her eyes. Eredil gave her another quick embrace, and then led Tirrion to the door, thanking him once more, wishing him a good night, before turning back to Miriel. She began to guide Miriel towards the stairs, but to her surprise, Miriel resisted, running back to the door.

“Wait! Tirrion.”

Tirrion turned back around at the sound of the door opening again. Miriel shut it quickly behind her, and limped to Tirrion. They automatically clasped hands.

Miriel stared at him, her mouth moving slightly as she searched for the right words, struggled to form them.

“Thank you.”

Before the tears could start again, Tirrion had scooped her into his arms and their lips were pressed tightly together. After a long kiss, he sat her down and rested his hand on her cheek, still looking down into her eyes.

“Do you… want to talk more tomorrow? About getting married?”

Miriel nodded.

  


Eredil heard the door open as Miriel came back in. Miriel looked back at her, face slightly flushed, and after a moment of silence, began to sob again.

“Oh, melleth, you need to go to sleep, you poor thing.” Eredil gently guided her up to her bedroom, and helped her into bed. She covered her crying niece with a warm blanket, and rubbed her back, singing softly.

Finally, Miriel lay still, peacefully. Her breathing was deep and even, and she finally seemed relaxed. Eredil whispered a soft “good night,” and went back to her own bed.

Miriel let her eyes close, as her body warmed under the blanket. The soft rain on the roof just seemed comforting now. She thought about Tirrion. She loved him, and it felt… nice. She had pushed those emotions away for so, so many years now, and letting them flow freely lifted a great burden from her shoulders. She knew her father would have been pleased.

 

Tirrion returned home long after Miriel got to bed, but before she fell asleep. The walk back was pleasant, the night air dosed with just a bit of warm rain. It seemed to take only a few seconds, though it was several minutes away. Tirrion opened his front door to a quiet house, still blissfully asleep and entirely unaware of the night’s events. He felt a brief melancholy at the silence as he undressed and slid into his chilly bed, but his thoughts of Miriel warmed him again. She was better. Finally, the icy wall she had put around herself had melted. Finally, she had begun to exit the pit Berion’s death had left her tumbling into. Finally, she was becoming herself again. Tirrion wished he could scream, so happy was he that Miriel could be happy again.

They both smiled, separately, in their beds, thinking of the other, glad they could finally be together. They each gathered their blankets around them, nestled into their pillows, and fell asleep at the same time.


	17. Chapter 17

When Miriel awoke, she felt stiff and groggy, but surprisingly well rested. She sat up and stretched, noticing every detail about the morning. Her wet clothes were now hanging dry over a chair, there was a half empty glass of water next to her bed, and a strip of bright sunlight beamed across her velvet blanket. And she was alive. Miriel got out of bed unreluctantly, for the first time in ages.

Miriel had just finished dressing when Eredil opened her door. She smiled brightly when she saw her niece out of bed, and wearing a slightly lighter gown. “Good morning. I thought you would never wake up!”

“Why, what time is it?” Miriel rubbed her eyes.

“You slept all day yesterday, and all night!” Eredil set down a tray with some bread and another cup of tea. “I was going to wake you, if you hadn’t already. Will you… try to eat?”

Miriel glanced down at the food, and it felt as if the knot in her stomach had shrunken ever so slightly. “Yes, I think I could, a little.”

 

Tirrion had wanted to go to his parents today, inform them that they wanted to marry. Miriel couldn’t help but feel a stab of pain that her father would not receive the same message. She was safe in the knowledge that he would know someday, at least…

After nibbling on the small piece of bread her aunt had given her, and drinking a bit of the tea, she began the task of brushing her long hair. She wanted to look especially nice. Although she had known Tirrion’s parents her whole life, it seemed different, talking to them about marriage.

She stepped outside, noticing the rain of the night before had passed, leaving iridescent drops on all the leaves and flowers. She hadn’t noticed when the flowers had come up, but she grabbed a few and wound them into her hair. Another painful stab; Berion had always loved to see flowers in her shining locks.

“Good morning, Miriel.” Miriel stood up and turned around to greet the voice. Tirrion stood behind her, and smiled when he saw her face. She smiled back, for the first time in what felt like a long time. It felt good.

“Good morning, Tirrion.”

“Do you still… want to do this?”

Miriel grinned. “Of course I do.”

“Well, are you ready to speak with my parents, then? And get our rings made?”

“I am ready.” Miriel took Tirrion’s offered hand, and they walked down the tree-lined path, towards his home.

Miriel began to feel a little more nervous as they approached Tirrion’s parents. She felt suddenly small, and unimportant, and looked slightly downwards. Tirrion squeezed her hand.

“Nana? Ada?” Tirrion started. He looked at Miriel, and she looked back at him, then at his parents. “We have decided that we would like to marry.”

His parents’ grins faltered, for just a second, and then grew twice as wide. Feniel swept Miriel into her arms, hugging and spinning. “Congratulations!”

Miriel returned the embrace, her eyes watering furiously, and Tunnor enveloped them all in his arms.

 

The rest of the day seemed like a blur. After they had spoken with Tirrion’s parents, they went and spoke to Miriel’s aunt and uncle. Eredil beamed brightly and hugged her niece close, clearly proud. The whisper of, “Your father would have been so proud,” brought unfortunate tears to Miriel’s eyes, but she pulled away smiling. When that was done, Eredil turned and hugged Tirrion as well. Tirrion couldn’t help but notice the family resemblance between Miriel and her aunt. They had similar smiles, nearly identical eyes, and their hair, although different colors, seemed to shine constantly with reflected light. He wondered at how Miriel could still outshine her in every way.

Miriel’s uncle, as usual, showed little emotion in his quiet congratulations. He rarely expressed any, accept maybe a small spark of love in his grey eyes occasionally upon hearing Eredil’s ringing laugh. He gave Miriel a small hug and Tirrion a quick handshake, murmuring his approval, and then Eredil was hugging them again.

When her Aunt was finished doting over the soon-to-be-engaged couple, and her Uncle had grunted his last goodbye, they visited Faelon. He delighted especially in making wedding rings, but, unfortunately for him, for many years his only business had been forging weapons and gear of war. He let them choose exactly what style their rings would be, speaking animatedly about what he could do for them, and responding enthusiastically to what they asked for. Miriel and Tirrion watched as his skilled gloved hands quickly formed two shining silver rings, which he presented to the couple with a flourish and a smile upon their completion.

Tirrion helped Miriel pick a bouquet and many more fresh flowers for their engagement. They were both staggering under the weight of hundreds of flowers, attempting not to crush any and laughing at the other. They brought them all to the place they would be engaged, arranging them carefully and kissing each other whenever they could. Too soon, they felt, it was time to depart and get dressed for the ceremony. Amoniel came to collect both of them and walked Tirrion first to her house, then left with Miriel to help her get ready. Miriel gave Tirrion one last kiss goodbye, winking and blowing him even another kiss. Tirrion blew her one back, and she laughed, waving madly goodbye. Amoniel pretended to roll her eyes, and she pulled Miriel away in the direction of her house, laughing. It was nearly time.

 

Miriel sat still, while Amoniel braided flowers into her long, flowing hair. She had asked for her to do her hair, remembering Amoniel loved to work with flowers.  She looked down at her hands and saw they were shaking ever so slightly. She couldn’t believe how quickly the day had flown by. Miriel picked up the small wooden box on the dresser next to her and turned it over in her hands. She thought of the silver ring inside with a spark of excitement.

“Miriel?” Amoniel's voice tore her friend away from her thoughts.

“Yes?” Miriel started to turn to face Amoniel, but Amoniel held her by the shoulders. Turning would ruin her hair; it wasn’t quite done yet. Perhaps that’s what gave Amoniel the courage she needed to speak.

“Tirrion told me what happened the night he… Proposed.”

Miriel’s fingers tensed around the box in her hand. “He did?” she asked softly, trying to sound indifferent and failing. The memory of that night brought a sudden rise of mixed emotion, and her eyes misted over slightly.

“Miriel, if you had jumped…” Amoniel’s thoughts swirled in a thousand directions at once; she could only imagine Miriel’s family’s grief. Her own. Tirrion’s. She thought of the tears in his eyes when he had told her of finding Miriel on the cliff face that night. He would have been devastated. “I-I am just so glad you didn’t,” Amoniel finished.

Miriel’s hand released the box and rubbed her eyes. “Me too. Thank you.”

Amoniel’s fingers paused in what they were doing. “Are you sure you will be all right? Are you sure you’re ready to be married?”

“I am positive.” Her fists clenched. “I miss my father terribly. But I have always loved Tirrion. I can’t believe I didn’t see it so clearly before now. I-I wish I had, things could have been so different… But I have… so much to live for. And I will see my father again, one day.” Miriel’s voice cracked and she forced her fingers open again to wipe the sweat on her dress, before bringing one up to rub her eyes again.

“I believe you will.” Amoniel added another flower to Miriel’s hair and secured the finishing touches. “And I believe you and Tirrion will be happy for a long time. Now give me a hug, _pen-channas_. Your hair is done.” Miriel turned to hug Amoniel, who gently whispered in her ear. “I love you so much, _muinthel nín_.”

Miriel sobbed quietly and clutched Amoniel tighter. “ _Muinthel_ …” she whispered.

Amoniel felt something wet fall on her. Was Miriel crying? Miriel, who hadn’t even cried when she had broken her ankle? When her father had died? She held Miriel for many moments longer, afraid to break a tender moment. Miriel finally pulled away, and, yes, she was crying. Finally, a little emotional release.

“One thing, Amoniel?” Miriel’s voice was soft.

“Yes, anything.”

“Please don’t give me to the orcs again. And don’t go digging any more pits.”

“Ah, yes. Um. Of course, Miriel. I will not do that again.” Amoniel grinned awkwardly, and Miriel beamed back through her tears. “One thing, for me, as well?”

“Anything.”

“Stay alive.”

“I will,” Miriel choked on the words, and a fresh wave of tears spiked her eyes. Amoniel brushed them away, cleaning Miriel’s face with a handkerchief gently. Miriel noticed ‘Avaron’ was embroidered on the cloth. She also noticed a shiny ring on Amoniel’s fingers, a ring she was certain belonged to Calarphen.

“Beautiful. Please stop crying, Mir, wait for the ceremony to begin. Are you ready?”

“I am. I really am.” Miriel sniffed and Amoniel adjusted her hair one last time.

“Then let’s go.”

 

Amoniel thought the celebration looked lovely. The sun was just setting, casting a pretty golden glow over the trees, occasionally flashing on a plate or a glass on the long table. She looked around, her gaze resting on the other elves―some sitting, waiting for the meal, others standing around talking amongst themselves. Her parents were fussing over Tirrion, making sure his clothes were smooth and his hair looked just right. He was laughing, fending them off. He caught Amoniel’s eye and winked, and she waved back, mouthing “Good luck.” He returned to gently pushing away his parents, and Amoniel turned to the bride-to-be. The lighting was already flattering, and Miriel looked stunning. Her face absolutely glowed, lit by the evening light, and seemingly by another light from inside of her. Her hair shone like a waterfall of gold down her back, capturing and reflecting the sunset. There were no tear tracks left on her face, but Amoniel thought there might be some before the night was over. Miriel kept looking at Tirrion with a face of pure adoration, the same way he looked at her every day, and looking away quickly before her eyes misted over. Amoniel couldn’t help but grin as she saw the happy couple. She felt safe in the knowledge that, even if she wasn’t there, Tirrion would always protect her friend. Soon, her sister.

Amoniel’s own eyes misted over, and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief. Miriel caught her eye and she smiled encouragingly.

Miriel returned Amoniel’s small smile from the other side of the table. She took a deep breath, feeling the silver ring in her hand with each finger before moving it to the other hand. She hoped that her palms would be less sweaty when she gave it to Tirrion. Thinking of him, she looked towards him, at the same time that he did her. Their eyes met, and Tirrion nodded, answering the question they both had in their minds. Miriel strode towards him, smiling, and took his hand. Together, they walked to the head of the table, and the conversations around slowly stopped.

Tirrion spoke, commanding attention, looking directly into Miriel’s blue eyes. “I love you, and I desire to marry you.” He revealed the tiny silver circlet in his palm, and suddenly their entire world was each other. “What is your will?”

“My will is yours.” Miriel took out the slightly larger ring she held, hand shaking ever so slightly. _Don’t cry, don’t cry,_ she begged her clouding eyes. Her gaze moved down to her hand as Tirrion lifted it gently and slid her ring onto her finger. She repeated the gesture, and made eye contact with Tirrion once more. A bird chirped in the silence that followed, reminding them of the onlookers. They turned again to face the elves that were watching.

“Hail family, and friends! One year from this day, we will marry!”

Miriel felt another sob catch in her throat as her family and friends around the table cheered, and Tirrion swept her into his arms, spinning her, holding her as if he would never let go. Amoniel was screaming, “That’s my

brother! That’s my sister!” Miriel laughed, throwing her arms around Tirrion’s neck. They kissed, and kissed again.

 

* * *

 

Amoniel threw another pebble in the stream, watching as it rippled, causing a few water plants to bounce. Tirrion was sitting under a tree across from her, singing something under his breath. Amoniel gave a blissful sigh and flopped down with her back against the soft grass. There were puffy clouds in the sky, moving overhead at various speeds. Her thoughts raced through her head in time with the clouds. So much had happened, so much had changed in the past few months. And for the better, mostly. She thought of the kidnapping, the war, Miriel's father dying. These were all terrible things, horrible, but more than balanced out by Amoniel returning home after such a long exile, Miriel and Tirrion's engagement, her parents, finally being given everything she had wanted for so long. Real friends, real family.

“Hello, _pen-channas_.” Miriel's voice interrupted Amoniel’s thoughts. Amoniel looked up to see her friend, grinning, a flower tucked merrily behind her ear. Miriel sat down by Tirrion and kissed his cheek. Amoniel thought about how much better she looked since Tirrion had saved her from an untimely death, now more than a month ago. Her face had lost its pallidity and she looked slightly less thin, and so much happier.

“Hello yourself.” Amoniel returned the grin. “Shouldn't you be in a council meeting or something?”

“Soon, unfortunately,” Miriel responded. “I don't understand how my Ada managed to spend so much time in meetings without losing his sanity.” She sighed, softly, looking a little sad. Life without her father was difficult, in more ways than one. Aside from the loneliness, she now had to take his place in the council meetings she so much despised.

“What brought you here?” Amoniel asked.

“Oh, yes.” Miriel pulled a package out of her bag and handed it over to Amoniel. “I made this for you.”

“You made this?” Amoniel gasped, tearing open the package. It was a cloak, made of soft, thick, black velvet. It flowed over Amoniel's lap like water as she lifted it up with a gasp. “It’s so beautiful!” She traced her finger along the intricate embroidery on the hood, and the collar. “Oh, Miriel…” The cloak dropped to the ground as Amoniel threw her arms around Miriel, already tearing up. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank _you,_ Amoniel,” Miriel whispered, tears forming in her eyes. “And check your pockets.” She pulled away, gave Tirrion a quick smile, and continued down the path to her meeting.

_Check my pockets?_ Amoniel picked up the cloak again, and turned it inside out. The whole inside was full of pockets; large ones, small ones, all double stitched for support. Amoniel slid the cloth over her hands, feeling each smooth, cool pocket.

Her fingers touched something cold. A brooch in the shape of a silver leaf, similar to the one Miriel wore, and three fresh daisies. Amoniel’s tears blurred out the image in front of her and fell, heavy onto her lap. She couldn’t help but grin and yell at Miriel’s retreating back, “Thank you! I love you!”

Tirrion laughed a little, and the cloak slid swiftly out of Amoniel's lap as he grabbed it. “She’s soon to be my wife; I love her more.”

“Hey, don’t take it, that's mine!” She laughed through her tears, and she reached for the cloak. Tirrion jumped up and ran, Amoniel hot on his heels. She chased Tirrion all the way down the path to Miriel, where the trio walked in the sunshine, finally at peace.


	18. Glossary of Names and Phrases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut and Snowglobe realize you, the lovely reader, probably don't have that great of a working knowledge of Tolkien's elvish off the top of your head. So come here to learn what all the characters' names and the phrases they use mean!

**Names:**

**Amathon:** (Sindarin) Shield man

**Amoniel:** (Sindarin) Daughter of hill

**Avaron:** (Sindarin) Refuser; he gave himself this name when he chose not to associate with any realm

after the destruction of Eregion

**Berion:** (Sindarin) Protector

**Calarphen:** (Sindarin) Brilliant

**Eredil:** (Sindarin) Day woman

**Faelon:** (Sindarin) Generous man

**Feleth:** (Sindarin) Gleaming/white one

**Feniel:** (Sindarin) Daughter of cloud

**Hador:** (Sindarin) Thrower/hurler

**Miriel:** (Quenya) Adorned with jewels; Miriel’s father gave her a Quenya name because of her

Noldorin roots

**Nestoril:** (Sindarin) Healer

**Pirindis:** (Sindarin) Winking flower woman

**Siloriel:** (Sindarin) Daughter of one who shines

**Tirrion:** (Sindarin) Son of guard/watcher

**Tunnor:** (Sindarin) Hill man

 

**Phrases:**

**Henig nín:** (Sind.) My child

**Melleth nín:** (Sind.) My sister

**Muinthel:** (Sind.) Sister

**Hanar:** (Sind.) Brother

**Gwein hanar:** (Sind.) Younger brother

**Sellig:** (Sind.) Daughter

**Pen-channas:** (Sind.) Idiot


End file.
